


Numbing Potion

by terrancorn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bitter Hermione Granger, Death Eaters, Department of Mysteries, Disability, F/F, Medical Negligence, Passive Suicidal Ideation, Permanent Injury, Politics, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Religion, Suicidal Thoughts, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21926863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrancorn/pseuds/terrancorn
Summary: Hermione had given up trying to keep up; she bit through the pain and kept her own slow, steady pace. Ahead the group ran into the aisle, none of them even looking back to see if Hermione was still with them.She felt rather than heard the body slide up to her, and in one swift motion her wand was taken from her. Someone whispered, from so close she could feel the breath caressing her ear, “Muddy, what's with the slow walk? Don't you want to be with your friends when they get caught?”Hermione huffed, bitter and exhausted, “Well, if my friends,” the word laced with venom, “would ever listen, we'd not be here at all. And if they ever thought about my walking speed we'd indeed be together.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 62
Kudos: 488





	1. The Department of Mysteries

Harry and Ron had run ahead, as usual, dragging Luna, Neville, and Ginny with them. Hermione had given up trying to keep up; she bit through the pain and kept her own slow, steady pace. 

Ahead Harry shouted something about a row number and his vision. The group ran into the aisle, none of them even looking back to see if Hermione was still with them.

She sighed but kept going. They had dragged her along on this ridiculous quest. For all of Harry's bluster that he'd do it alone, he still had needed her to get rid of _Umbridge_ , and then hadn't let go of her hand, pushing her on one of the thestrals. 

She felt rather than heard the body slide up to her, and in one swift motion her wand was taken from her. Someone whispered, from so close she could feel the breath caressing her ear, “Muddy, what's with the slow walk? Don't you want to be with your friends when they get caught?” 

Hermione huffed, bitter and exhausted, “Well, if my _friends_ ,” the word laced with venom, “would ever listen, we'd not be here at all. And if they ever thought about my walking speed we'd indeed be together.” 

Hermione felt her captor's little laugh against her skin. An arm snaked around her body and she felt the tip of a wand at her throat, the pressure unexpectedly delicate. She felt like someone was gently holding her, offering an embrace, not the harsh restraint she had expected; not the brutal violence the stories of the Blood War promised. 

The fact that she had predicted this trap hadn't made her fear spike any less when she had felt her captor slide up to her. As the adrenaline wore off, it took with it her last reserves, and Hermione felt her leg beginning to give in, her body shivering under the strain. The strain of the romp through the forbidden forest, the thestral flight, and then the rush down to the Hall of Prophecies settled in her body. She leaned on her crutches, trying to keep her predicament from her captor, but the trembling gave her away. 

“What's this, then, pet?” the timbrous voice asked. Her captor switched arms, keeping hold of her while freeing the wand that just a moment ago had been pointed at her chin. 

A forceful _finite incantatem_ didn't change anything. “That won't work,” Hermione said, “I've added rune-based _notice-me-not_ and invisibility to my crutches. I can't make them visible without my wand, but I can store them. You'd need to keep me upright then, though. I can't stand, let alone walk without them.” 

She felt a hand slide down her arm to touch the cradle where her crutch was strapped to her forearm, then follow it down a bit to determine the crutch's shape. 

Hermione idly wondered if the rest of the group had been caught yet. “Would you mind terribly,” she asked, “if I were to take a potion, from my inner robe pocket? I promise I won't run or attack or anything like that.” 

A pale hand reached over Hermione's shoulder and into the robe pocket pulling out her emergency vial rack and uncorking the first one with a flick of the thumb. A loud sniff, and then, “Muddy, this is a _numbing draught_ ; where did you get it? Why do you have it?” 

“I brewed it. It's the only thing that can numb the pain anymore,” Hermione said, “and it's the only reason I'm still in this _godforsaken hellhole of a mage world_ .” 

“Shhhh, muddy, don't stress. Take your potion.” She felt a brush of warm knuckles against her chin and then cool glass against her lips, and she tilted her head back and swallowed. The pain faded into the background. 

The pop of another uncorking, and then another sniff. “A nerve tonic. Do you want that too, pet?” Hermione nodded. Again her captor brought the vial to her mouth; she swallowed the vile concoction without hesitation. “Why do you take that, then?” 

“It's the only thing that helps with the muscle cramps.” 

“I take it,” her captor said, uncorking the third vial, “you want this,” another sniff, “invigoration draught too?” Hermione nodded again. The draught took her away from the edge of exhaustion, but she knew tomorrow there'd be hell to pay. 

Someone stepped out from between the shelves, the row where Harry and his little group had been headed. They wore the black cloak and silver mask of the Death Eaters. The cloaked figure signed at her captor, who left one arm wrapped around Hermione and leaned forward to sign a reply. Soft, black hair brushed against her face. The figure nodded, then stepped back out of sight. 

“You know what, muddy? My _colleagues_ seem to be just fine handling your, ahem, friends, so how about we have a little chat here? I can tell you that your friends are unharmed and likely will remain so; we seem to have come to some kind of agreement, so we have no more reason to fight.” 

Walking through the pain had drained her, and the potions and the relief they offered made her lethargic, something even the invigoration draught couldn't help with. Hermione sagged in relief, even knowing she was still in the hands of someone whom the _Daily Prophet_ called the right hand of he-who-must-not-be-named. One of _those_ thoughts floated past, that maybe tonight it would all end, and the pain would stop. She felt it difficult to not grasp onto that and _hope_. 

“Anyway, muddy, what's with the draughts and all that, then?” 

“I had a run-in with a troll's club on Samhain in my first year at Hogwarts, and then at St Mungo's met some of _your lot_ ,” she spat the words, “so ended up with _muggle_ surgery and 36 screws, 8 plates, 3 rods, and some other assorted hardware in my body.” Bitterness lacing her voice, she added, “Oh, and this lovely raspy voice, because it seems screaming in pain for a day isn't good for you.” 

Bellatrix gasped, “How?” 

“Well, the _healer_ , ha, on duty when I was transferred from Hogwarts felt it beneath him to use _muggle_ means to contact my parents, because as a twelve-year-old I needed parental permission for skele-gro to be administered. So instead he moved me to a room, silenced it, and wrote a note for the next on-duty healer to _deal with the muggles_. It was a busy day at St Mungo's, supposedly, so it took too long for that healer to get to his mail, and I was outside the time window where skele-gro works. They transferred me to a muggle hospital where the surgeons had a field day putting me back together. I made it through physio and back to Hogwarts by Easter break. Heckle and Jeckle,” she waved in the direction of the aisle where the group had headed, “decided that being a contributing factor to my major trauma was the start of a friendship, by which they mean they'd come to me for homework help and to drag me into their nonsense. Or if they needed research done, because reading is beneath them or something.” 

Hermione felt weird telling her story, sharing her pain, a member of some kind of terrorist group that supposedly killed people like her, yet when she glanced back at this supposed insurgent, she saw in those dark eyes only interest and compassion. There was no pity, much to her relief. Even her encircling arm seemed to support her more than restrain her. She shook herself to clear her mind and continued. 

“The _good_ Muggle painkillers are addictive and can affect people's cognitive abilities. Well, not that pain doesn't also do that. My mind is the one thing I have left that's intact, so I'm not a big fan of that. Moreover, doctors – muggle healers – don't like giving them to patients anyway, even those who need them, and regular check-ups with muggles aren't so easy while at Hogwarts, so I went looking for alternatives, in the meantime working my way through the stash of painkillers I'd acquired. 

“Snape, another of _your lot_ , didn't feel like helping a _mudblood know-it-all_ , but eventually I found some good draughts and practised until I could brew them in an abandoned classroom or, during the summer, in a room rented at the Leaky.” 

“Wait,” Bellatrix interrupted, “you've been brewing _master-level_ draughts ad-hoc since your second year?” 

“Yeah, well, needs must and all that,” Hermione shrugged. “It's a restricted potion so nobody would sell it to me, so making it myself was the only option. In the beginning they probably weren't great, but they still helped. And as the draught needs spells cast during the brewing I can't make it at my _muggle_ home without triggering the trace. Another thing magicals don't have to worry about.” 

Hermione paused, the bitter memories overwhelming her. 

“Heh,” she said, “if _your lot_ hadn't fucked up my healing, I would've been out of the magical world five years ago. I would've given up the magnificent, splendid, wonderful thing that is _magic_ and walked away from the whole lot as it was clear I wasn't wanted, but now I can't, because it's the only way I can manage my pain. 

“I'd studied so hard, before Hogwarts, read up on customs and dress and all, only to have people hear my surname and know it's not a _pure_ one, so all my etiquette studying was for naught, I was a _mudblood_ and nothing else.” 

She sighed wearily. “This summer I should get confirmation I have enough OWLs to get the trace dropped and to no longer have to go to Hogwarts. Then Heckle and Jeckle can do their own research and maybe I'll get to study something somewhere where I'm welcome.” She waited a beat. “Well, assuming I survive whatever this is.” 

“Are you sure you'll have enough OWLs? I know they've raised the number needed to be exempted, to encourage more people to pursue NEWTs,” Bellatrix asked. 

“I took all the ones Hogwarts schedules, except for divination, and did self-study for Wandlore and for Modern Runecraft. I expect Outstandings for most, with maybe one or two Exceeds Expectations. It should be enough.” 

Hermione shrugged and turned her head to look at her companion. Bellatrix' eyes had widened; her neutral mask slid back in place, but some of her excitement bled through in her voice. “Pet, do you know how few people take, let alone succeed in that many OWLs? And you want to leave the wizarding world?” 

“Yup,” Hermione said, popping the p, before continuing, deadpan, “I'm not always against being murdered, you know what with the whole pain thing, but I can do without the insults, abuse, lack of prospects, and from what the newspaper says, torture.” 

Bellatrix seemed to get ready to say something, but Hermione didn't give her the chance. “Oh, and the abuse isn't even from _blood purists_ , no, anybody that's different in any way gets to enjoy it. 

“There's a reason my crutches have notice-me-not runes and such on them, because in this society it's considered funny to transfigure people's mobility tools. Even when they're on the stairs. 

“Like, your boss has a point that the Ministry is corrupt and that this whole society needs to be shaken up, but I'm not sure that more disregard for people's wellbeing is what's needed.” 

Hermione stopped talking abruptly, realising who she had just maligned, and in front of the person renowned as _his_ right hand. She looked at Bellatrix, trying to gauge her mood. What she saw was determination set in the witch's dark eyes. Hermione was stuck, fear freezing her limbs, terrified of _more pain_ and swinging between hope and despair at the thought of death. 

“Pet,” Bellatrix said, in a tone gentler than Hermione expected, “there's so much you've not been told and so many lies have been told… 

“When the Death Eaters started out, their goal was to wrest control back from the Ministry, to be able to honour _Magic_ , and to keep our world hidden from those without magic. The minister at the time claimed we were 'seeking to eat the richness from the Ministry's table, but would only find death if we stayed the course', hence the name.” Her face fell. “What happened to you shows how badly we failed.” She released her hold on Hermione, who turned to face her. She saw such sorrow in those dark eyes that without thinking, she lifted her hand and reached for the older witch's face, to soothe her. 

Bellatrix leaned into the touch, relaxing at the unexpected sympathy. 

“Bella,” someone called from behind Hermione. Bellatrix looked up, breaking the contact between the two. “We've got the prophecy and it doesn't make any sense. We're helping the kids up to the roof, so they can fly their thestrals back to Hogwarts.” 

Bellatrix' melancholy expression vanished as though hidden behind a mask. “What's this about the prophecy?” 

>   
>  “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”

Bellatrix looked puzzled. “That makes no sense at all; the Dark Lord has _never_ lived.” 

Hermione, surprised, couldn't stop her “wha?” 

Bellatrix looked at the confused face in front of her and shrugged. “It's always been a _nom de guerre_ , an identity for our spokesperson to take on, so how on Earth…?” 

“How,” Hermione asked, hesitatingly, “is it determined who a prophecy applies to?” 

“Oh,” Bellatrix pondered for a moment, “I guess it's some boffin here in the department who gets that duty.” 

“So what if this one is about, say, Dumbledore? He seems to be controlling plenty, and he has marked Harry, if only by bestowing that silly moniker.” 

“You, my pet,” Bellatrix glowed, “are brilliant.” 

The other Death Eater had joined the duo and now coughed, pointing at their watch. 

“Right, right.” Flustered, Bellatrix rushed through her words. “Would you permit me to call on you later?” she asked Hermione. 

Hermione hesitated only briefly before nodding. “At home I can only be reached by muggle means; I can give you my address and phone number. It seemed best to keep all magic away from my parents…” 

An elated pride showed very briefly on Bellatrix' face before her aristocratic neutral mask slid back in place. 

“I will call on you the day after you return from Hogwarts, if that is acceptable to you?” Bellatrix said, suddenly sounding very stilted and formal. She stored the note with Hermione's address in her inner robe pocket. 

Hermione nodded. 

“Shall we take you up to meet your,” Bellatrix paused a moment, “ _friends_ , so you can head back? With a bit of luck there'll be nothing here by the time the Horde of the Chicken shows up.” 

* * *

Hermione joined the rest of the group on the roof of the Ministry, her brain abuzz with what she had learned tonight. 

She nodded a goodbye at her erstwhile captor, then turned to the thestral who had brought her here. As she petted the animal, thanking them for their help and for waiting for her return, Ron shattered the calm of the moment with his shrill, “Why weren't you with us, Mione?” 

She twitched at the nickname, hating the liberties he took with her name. It was late, she was exhausted, she hurt, and she'd been dragged on a pointless quest. 

“You may remember,” she spat, “about a _troll_ I had a bit of an altercation with a while ago?” 

“But that's been years ago; are you still going on about that?” 

“The fact that it's been years ago just means the injuries have aged, not that they have healed. Which you may recall from the last five times I explained that to you.” 

She paused for a moment, offered a curt “Good night,” and pulled herself on the thestral's back. The animal took off immediately, aware their rider had no interest in staying on the roof any longer. 

Bellatrix grinned at the acerbic goodbye, performed the spell that enabled her mist-form, and flew away. 

The remainder of the Hogwarts group gave Ron the look that said he had messed up, again, which had him mumbling that it wasn't his fault. It never was, after all, he felt. They mounted their thestrals and started on their own flight to Hogwarts. 

* * *

The _Daily Prophet_ the next day had a small article about a group of intruders having been arrested attempting to access the Department of Mysteries. As no damage was done and the group was vouched for by a few well-known and respected citizens, no charges were to be filed and the perpetrators had been warned and released. They were fined for not having a dog tag on the animal that accompanied them. 

In the _notices_ section of the newspaper was an announcement of the unexpected death, at home, of Lucius Malfoy. He was survived by his widow and son, Narcissa Black and Draco Malfoy. 


	2. Home, Visiting the Heath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hogwarts Express heads back to King's Cross. The next day, Bellatrix visits Hermione and explains a few things they did not have time for at the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione was still in pain and sleep-deprived by the time they were to take the Hogwarts Express home. She usually tried to keep her temper in check, but only Luna had even thought to check in to find out how she was doing, so Harry and his friends were only given one-word answers or outright ignored when they tried to make conversation. It's not like she had invited them to join her in her compartment, after all. 

Hermione tried to read, but after rereading the same passage again and again and not remembering any of it she gave it up for a bad job. She rested the remainder of the trip home, though true sleep eluded her. 

Ron tried to make conversation once but was shouted down by all the other occupants of the compartment before he could get beyond the start of his sentence, so she was spared _that_ , at least. 

She greeted her parents warmly, though she couldn't help but feel the distance between them and her. Her magic had first created the chasm, but she felt she could handle that, even if it was challenging. Intelligence agents had to hide things from their families, and they managed, so this wouldn't be so different. It had felt a bit adventurous, when she was eleven. They had managed; there were _human_ experiences that they could share without having to deal with the presence of magic for one of them. 

Yet the injury and its aftermath had created a chasm they had been unable to cross. The fact that she lived in a body that was now so _different_ , a reality so fundamentally distinct from their able-bodied existence, proved to be something they could not handle. They could understand how the ability to levitate things with a word would change one’s life, but they could not truly understand that _always_ being in pain was also life-changing. They could not understand getting up exhausted _every day_ and still continuing. They could not understand being able to walk yesterday while being unable to even crawl to the bathroom today. 

She lasted through dinner, the usual take-away from their favourite Chinese place that had become a bit of a homecoming ritual for them, but then had to excuse herself and call it an early night. 

She skipped the shower, eager for the trace to be lifted so she could _scourgify_ herself on days like this. She rinsed her mouth with mouthwash. It'd have to do; brushing wasn't in the cards today. She dropped most of her clothes next to her bed, pulled her set of vials from her nightstand, drank a full complement, and let the sleeping draught overtake her. 

* * *

Bella grinned at her reflection in the mirror. Muggle fashion's wide range was oh so convenient. She only had to dress down a little to have suitable attire to go meet the little witch from their Department of Mysteries venture. 

She looked up the address and found an apparition point at the nearby train station. A taxi would be able to take her the remaining distance and should prove sufficiently inconspicuous. 

She strode up the path to the front door by mid-morning, back straight, head held high. She wore knee-high boots; over her dress she wore a high-cut jacket. A warm morning breeze blew a few strands of her black curls in her pale face. She shook her head, checked to make sure no mishaps had occurred to her clothing, and rang the doorbell. 

She heard the clicking of crutches on the tiled hallway floor moments before she heard the door unlatch and she looked at the smiling but tired face of Hermione Granger. The young witch wore a summer dress and had put on some lip gloss, blush, and eyeliner. She was barefoot, though her leg was in a brace of some sort. The brace couldn't hide the extensive series of scars all along her leg. Her arm was similarly scarred, from wrist up to her shoulder. 

“Come in, please, Mrs. Lestrange,” the young witch said, with a welcoming smile. 

“Thank you,” Bellatrix said, stepping in, “though it's Ms Black again. I had never taken _that man_ 's name, but, in any case, we are no longer married.” 

“Oh,” Hermione said, embarrassed, but before she could apologise Bellatrix's laughing stopped her. “It's very recent, and the press seemed to enjoy mis-naming me, for some reason, so do not feel awkward, Ms Granger.” 

“Hermione, please.” 

“Bellatrix, then, or Bella.” 

Bellatrix followed Hermione into the dining room, slowing down to look at the photo frames decorating the hallway. They mostly were pictures of Hermione and her family. The more recent pictures no longer featured Hermione dancing or jumping, but rather often had her seated, and some pictures had her in a hospital bed. Books featured often, no matter the age of the picture. She smiled at that parallel to her own life. 

“Hermione,” Bellatrix thought the name delightful, but even so it flowed less easily off her tongue than the nicknames had when last they met. She shook her head to clear her mind and tried again, “Hermione, would you prefer we talk here or go somewhere else?” 

“I had hoped to be up for more,” Hermione said, with a tinge of weary acceptance to her voice, “but I think it best if we stay here. My parents are at work, so we won't be overheard. Maybe after lunch we could walk to the heath; it's not far and there are benches at the observation point. School's not out yet, in the county, so it should be quiet there.” 

Bellatrix nodded. “Oh, before I forget,” she said, reaching into her jacket, pulling out a small parcel, “I brought you a gift.” She reached over and gave the little wrapped item to Hermione. 

“Thank you, Bellatrix,” Hermione said, feeling the shape of a small book comfortingly pressed in her hand, “you shouldn't have.” 

Bellatrix laughed. “The _Ministry_ would literally say that I _shouldn't_ have, as it's a volume they frown upon. It's an introduction to the use of wardstones to constrain magic in an area; I believe you will find it interesting reading.” 

Hermione's eyes lit up at the thought of knowledge she had been denied so far. Bellatrix saw the sheen appear and smiled. 

They had tea and chatted about a variety of topics in magic, seated on opposite sides of the low table in the centre of the seating areaThe topics ranged from the intricacies of runic magic to the terrible teaching by Binns to the reason they could see thestrals. 

“Well, I spent close to six months in hospital. Turns out a blood clot from someone's leg injury can kill them just fine. He was dead before the nurses even made it to the room.” 

“Some _pranksters_ , or that's what _Dumbledore_ called them, thought it would be funny to tweak the moving staircases. A seventh-year was reviewing notes for their NEWTs, and stepped onto a step that wasn't there anymore. He fell four floors down; nobody was quick enough to cast an _arresto momentum_.” 

Hermione huffed at that, “I guess I should count myself lucky I only got _four_ extra fractures and a few lacerations courtesy of _pranksters_.” 

That brought the conversation around to Hermione's first-year experiences, and the harassment and bullying that led to her being in the troll's path on that Samhain evening. 

“I don't know _why_ those two decided that one moment of regret after bullying me, or in the case of boy wonder, standing by while I was being bullied, for two months makes us friends. 

“It's not that things got better, really, when I returned to Hogwarts. I just became the _cripple_ know-it-all mudblood. The anodyne response by _professor_ McGonagall to any bullying obviously didn't help. Instead she seemed to mostly be charmed by the two foremost bullies.” 

At lunch time the two wandered to the kitchen. When they returned with their sandwiches, they chose seats bracing a corner, their legs occasionally touching during the remainder of their chat. 

“I brought you another small gift,” Bella said, holding out a little chain with on it a pendant made of gray stone lined with purple veins. “It's made from a small piece of wardstone. I thought it looked quite pretty, and felt it might be a nice thing to complement the book I brought you.” 

“It looks magnificent, the way the crystals vein through the containing rock; it's a lovely colour combination, too.” 

Bellatrix nodded. “The book touches on it a little, but the encompassing rock ensures the crystals can contain much stronger spellwork than equivalent uncontained crystals would. That is the strength and weakness of wardstones; cutting through the structure can destroy its ability to hold spellwork at all.” 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, then continued chatting about some of the topics they'd touched upon in the morning. They talked about ritual magic, and Hogwart's lack of a teacher for the discipline, how the Leaky Cauldron creates a terrible first impression for visitors (and a muggle who stumbled into it would get exposed to magic in its bar room, so as a gateway it's not that great either), and the history behind Gringotts and its position in the mage world, which Binns, for all his mumbling about 'Goblin rebellions', never got around to. 

“I am officially Ms Black again since two days after we met. There was a,” the pause in her speech seemed to be more than just her searching for the right word, “ _mishap_ with one of the wardstones in the duelling room while a bunch of the more aggressive and outspoken members of our organisation were in it. 

“The place was set up to allow almost any type of spell to be cast, so that participants can train for actual fights, where stunners and stinging hexes don't achieve much, and the ward would ensure nobody was grievously injured by absorbing most of the power from each spell. 

_“According to the DMLE investigation_ , someone must have cast some particularly intense spell, or maybe a simultaneous cast of multiple spells happened, which caused the ward stone to overload and break, in turn causing 'practice' lethal spells to suddenly truly be lethal.” 

Without a speck of emotion, she continued, “Alas, nobody else was home, so even those not instantly killed soon succumbed to their wounds.” 

Bellatrix waved away any attempt at condolences, “We weren't very close; it was an arranged marriage.” 

Hermione led Bellatrix to her room. “I used to have my bedroom under the roof, the rain sounded magnificent there, but after the troll my parents moved their office up there and my bedroom down here.” Carefully, almost reverentially, she added the book to the trunk that contained her library of magic books. She grabbed a cardigan and squirmed her way into jeans, adding her brace once again. “People will stare in any case, but hiding the scars makes them stare just a bit less. This way they can at least think I'm wearing a summer dress over jeans to be fashionable.” 

They walked to the heath, seeking out one of the benches, sat, legs touching, and basked in the early summer sun. 

“The story of how we've gotten into this mess is a bit of a long one,” Bella said, “and I hope I can do this bit of history more justice than Binns does his Goblin 'rebellions'.” 

Hermione huffed, then grinned at Bella, and surprised at her own daring, “Obviously you'll do better; you didn't talk me to sleep at the Department of Mysteries, and I was in worse shape then, than I am now.” 

“I hope,” Bella said, as regally as she could, “there is less stress involved in today's meeting, my dear lady.” 

Hermione grinned, wobbling her hand, suggesting 'maybe'. 

Bella looked offended, then very quickly winked, and returned to her neutral expression. 

“Anyway,” she said, “before the ministry was established, there wasn't much of a government for witches and wizards. We don't tend to live close together, and there are only a few spaces where many magicals congregate: Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade are the two main ones that didn't have a body governing them, though those who held property there tended to collaborate where necessary. Hogwarts falls under the board, so really was just fine. 

If someone did something unwise, dangerous, or risking exposure of magic, usually one of the neighbours would maybe fix it and have a chat with them, or have a chat with another neighbour to have a chat with the person if they didn't see eye to eye. 

Usually that was enough to stop or change things. If there was a conflict, people would tend to try and work it out locally, but if that didn't work out they could go to the Wizengamot. The Wizengamot consisted of oath-bound members, appointed through sortition. They would, when approached over some conflict, appoint reeves who in turn held court to find an appropriate solution.” 

The early summer sun warmed the two witches. A bird of prey was hunting in the distance; little else moved on the heath. 

“When the ministry was established, the idea was that it would allow a small group of people to keep track of changes in the Muggle world, keeping us informed, ensuring we wouldn't be caught unaware. They were also meant to make sure Muggleborn mages wouldn't expose magic, and would join mage society well-informed.” 

Hermione huffed at that. “Have you ever seen the official information packs they hand out? I could've written something better about a week after my first visit to Diagon Alley.” 

Bella snorted. 

“Yes, well. The _intent_ was for that to happen. The reality was that they replaced the Wizengamot. They kept the name, but members were chosen from the richer and more influential Houses. Instead of giving us the means of keeping ourselves hidden, they decided to impose rules on us, banning and restricting magics, building a prison and inviting _dementors_ to dwell there. They set standards for Hogwarts, with fewer topics seen in less detail, then even diminishing that over time. Our magic ended up weakened, our practices to strengthen it first painted as superstition, then either banned or ignored.” 

She shrugged, uneasily. 

“The disconnected nature of our society meant that resistance to this power-grab was slow to manifest. Individual complaints were ignored, persistent dissenters vanished, and so it took us a long time to rebuild knowledge, to establish a network of like-minded people. 

The first group to come out and demand their history and their magic be respected was deemed to be trying to unfairly demand space at the ministry's banquet table and promised not food but death, so they started calling themselves Death Eaters.” 

Bella slid off the bench, crouching in front of Hermione, sorrow and regret marring her beautiful face. 

“And this,” Bella said, “is where I have to offer my _mea culpa_. I joined the Death Eaters years ago. I was raised to honour my patron, a practice frowned upon by the ministry; I felt it my duty to Her to join this fight. 

“What I didn't realise is that the group I joined had been taken over by some of those who held power in the early ministry, who thanks to shifting family fortunes were now no longer in control. Rather than continue to fight the ministry for how it restricted magics, they only fought to regain their power. They blamed it all on muggleborn witches and wizards, claiming it was muggle influence that caused the ministry to lose its way, rather than it being lost from the start.” 

She swallowed, looked down, as though she was afraid of looking in Hermione's eyes. “I so loved duelling and fighting while in Hogwarts that when I joined the Death Eaters I paid little attention to their politics, and became a foot soldier, enjoying the mayhem I could cause.” Bellatrix looked up at Hermione's face. “I spent years in Azkaban in a cell next to someone who had been part of the Death Eaters before the group became a front for rich fuckers fighting richer fuckers; _they_ were the one who reminded me of my obligations to Hecate and to other mages. 

“Even after I got out, I was waiting, thinking, plotting, trying to aim for how to change us so we'd become perfect.” She sighed. “Yet, perfect seems to be the enemy of better. I realised after we met that I may not be able to overthrow the ministry, but I can rid the Death Eaters of those who use the movement for their own gain. I may not be able to design a new curriculum, but I can teach what I know myself. I only so very recently realised that every small improvement makes things better for other mages **now** , makes things better for my Goddess **now**. 

“At the ministry…” She paused. “Even as you rightly decried what we've done to you and allowed to be done to you, you said something about how 'splendid' and 'wonderful' magic is. I would like, as part of my atonement, to share with you some of what I know of splendid and wonderful magic. 

“Would…” Bellatrix hesitated. “Would you be okay with me doing that?” 

Hermione, uncertain, half-shrugged and nodded. 

Bellatrix's smile rivalled the sun. 

* * *

Hermione opened the book on warding Bellatrix had brought her, curious to find out more about the subject. 

A newspaper clipping fell out of the book. It must have been quite recent, as it described the accident with the breaking wardstone, and listed those who had died that day. 

Many of the twenty-odd names Hermione had never heard of before, but she did recognize the names of the two Lestrange brothers, Macnair, Nott Sr., Crabbe, and Goyle. 

She folded the newspaper snippet and put it back between cover and main body of the book, before diving into the discussion of the properties of wardstones. 

* * *

Hermione was woken by tapping on her window. She limped over to that part of her room, opening the curtains to see a well-known snowy owl. She opened the window, letting the bird in. 

“You know, Hedwig,” she said, gently, “you are a magnificently pretty bird. As I've told your human, that's a bit of a problem. There are plenty of birders in this area, so having you show up here, this far South, is going to cause a stir. You are too majestic to go unnoticed, after all.” Hedwig preened at that. 

“I'm trying to _not_ stand out, which is why I've asked your human to use muggle mail.” She fluffed up her feathers, clearly displeased. “Yes, I know, Hedwig, you're obviously much better than any muggle mail carrier, but we're trying to keep magic _hidden_ , remember?” 

She untied the letter and searched through her desk drawer for an owl treat. She held out her hand with a few treats; Hedwig ate them greedily, then headed out on her return flight. 

> Hi Hermione, 
> 
> I'm heading to Snuffles already. The headmaster wanted me to stay with the Dursleys for longer, but Snuffles put his foot down (and threatened to deny access to his home). 
> 
> Dumbledore gave in, among other things because he expects Voldemort to not be very active this summer, after an accident killed a large number of his followers. 
> 
> My scar hasn't hurt since the DoM; I've had no nightmares. So that's been great. 
> 
> I know it hasn't worked out so far, but maybe this summer we could meet up some time, maybe at the Weasleys? 
> 
> Harry 

She huffed, crumpled the letter, and threw it at the paper basket. 


	3. Images in a Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellatrix takes Hermione sight-seeing for the first time.

Hermione was exhausted. She had hoped that with her O.W.L.'s written and no summer homework for Hogwarts, she would be able to catch up on sleep. She had yet to recover from the exhaustion and pain caused by the misadventure Heckle & Jeckle had pulled her into. Even with the strong pain potions, her sleep remained troubled; aching bones and twitching muscles stole away her rest. 

Even so, every morning she spent a few hours studying, preparing for her A-levels. After lunch she tended to need a nap. Some days she would wake for dinner, other days she'd feel well enough to rise mid-afternoon. On those days she tried to go for a walk, to maintain her stamina. She often found herself walking to the observation point on the heath, thinking of her chat with her new… friend? acquaintance?. She was uncertain exactly what they were to each other, but she had enjoyed their conversations. 

Bellatrix had sent her a letter, promising a visit just after lunch today. Hermione had decided to forego studying, instead re-reading Pride & Prejudice. Reading a book she already knew required less focus, saving her energy for the afternoon. She chose to rest for part of the morning, to be able to later entertain her guest. Needing this much planning for a simple visit felt exhausting by itself, but had been unavoidable since the troll. 

* * *

Hermione was delighted. She was surrounded by spectacular images, projected on every free surface in the cave. Some were reproductions of well-known artworks, others seemed to be depicting sites in the magic world, some no longer existent. 

“We don't know how long this cave has been in use,” Bellatrix said, pointing at a particular group of projections, “but we know that some images pre-date the Roman conquest of Britain.” 

The cave was lined with crystals, many humming with the spells embedded within, projecting whatever image the spellcaster imbued in them. 

“The magnificence of the whole cave is that at some point visitors started to send magic to existing spelled crystals, to ensure the spells would not dissipate. Every visitor helped to preserve the images for future visitors; it seems to have been something that happened spontaneously, and has been sustained now for going on two thousand years.” 

Hermione tried to take in all the imagery on display. There were impressions of Hogwarts under construction, showing its evolution from a set of wooden barracks to the castle she knew. There was an image of the destruction by Paulinus' troops of the nemeta on Anglesey. Somewhat more mundane was the image of someone finding an ashwinder egg in the aftermath of what looked to be the Great Fire. “I wish,” Hermione said, quietly, “I could spend days here. This is magnificent.” 

Bellatrix smiled at her. “Would you like to help sustain the spells that project all those images for future visitors, Hermione?” 

Hermione nodded, delight evident on her face. 

“Imagine the feeling you experience when casting a spell. Not any specific spell, but the underlying feeling, of magic flowing through your body, through your arm, to your wand,” Bellatrix said. “You don't need your wand for this; unfocused magic works best, as it'll get drawn to where it's needed. This place knows what it needs; Magic knows.” 

Hermione nodded, holding her arm out, palm open. She felt the gentle warmth pooling in her core, flowing through her arm, dissipating from her open hand into the cave. 

“It feels like I'm part of this whole thing,” she said in wonder. “The magic seems to leave my hand with a gentle caress, as though it's saying thank you before it goes.” 

Bellatrix nodded, smiling. “The first time I visited and got to give some of my magic, it reminded me of the feeling I got when I first got my wand, that same warmth and acceptance.” 

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “That's _exactly_ it; it is that same _delightful_ feeling.” 

They remained in the cave for hours, delighting at the feeling of their magic sustaining the spells that made their surroundings light up in brilliant history. 

The weather was pleasant; there was barely any wind and the summer sun was delightfully warm, even more so after the chill of the cave. 

Bellatrix conjured two chairs and a small table, pulling a flask, cups, and biscuits from her pocket. “I figured you might want a moment to rest, before we head out.” 

Hermione smiled and nodded. She sat and basked in the sun, sipping her tea. 

“I brought you a gift,” Bellatrix said. “I figured you might enjoy being able to view the images from the Crystal Cave at home. I bookmarked a few of the images that I particularly enjoy.” 

“Thank you for the book, and thank you for bringing me here. I don't understand why none of our professors at Hogwarts ever thought to show us something like this, to let us experience this magic, instead of the rote practice of spells. It's sad they never thought to bring us to something this wonderful.” Bellatrix's eyes clouded over for a moment at the mention of Hogwarts. 

“I'm…” Hermione hesitated. “I'm _buoyed_ , I guess, by the experience. To see these spells that have been active for hundreds of years, and then to contribute my own magic to keep those spells alive for longer… The feeling is indescribable. Really, thank you, Bellatrix.” 

Bellatrix smiled. “I love this place, ever since the first time I visited, with my commater. That feeling that you're part of something historical, something long-running, hundreds of years, and feeling your magic respond to that…” She trailed off. 

“Crystals are great repositories for spells, to keep a spell going even after you've cast it. You can use it with pretty much any spell; you're not limited to just imaging ones, like those in the cave. 

“There's a nice little trick you can play with crystals. You know that anything that's been conjured will fade away, right?” 

Hermione nodded. 

“So imagine conjuring a crystal – it's not easy, but a strong caster can do it – and then spelling the crystal, feeding it extra magic to sustain the spell. If you conjure it with the right power, you know approximately how long it will exist, which means -” 

Hermione cut in. “Which means you know how long the spell will remain in effect, because it'll end when the crystal dissipates. That is magnificent. Why don't they teach this kind of stuff at Hogwarts!” 

Bellatrix shrugged, sadness evident. “Because the people who write the standards with which the teachers have to comply have an agenda, and it's not making people delighted in Magic.” 

Both upset with that reality, they changed the subject to something less fraught. They stayed and chatted the remainder of the afternoon, talking about clothing (Bellatrix's imposing and beautiful style versus Hermione's muted and relaxed dress sense), arithmancy and how it figured in spell-crafting, how much Hermione liked the book on wardstones and warding, and the history behind some of the images they saw. 

Bellatrix apparated them to a nice, cosy restaurant in Hogsmeade. The privacy of the booth, aided by a spell or two, seemed to make some subjects easier to broach. Bellatrix talked about her conviction for sedition and her time in Azkaban, from her incarceration to her eventual release. Hermione talked about her first few months at Hogwarts, with Malfoy harassing her for her birth and Weasley bullying her for her studiousness, both encouraged and aided by plenty of others. 

Bellatrix noticed that Hermione's energy was flagging, so offered to take her directly home. “I should be able to apparate to the back garden; the shed will shield us well enough from any neighbours.” 

Hermione nodded and stepped close to Bellatrix for the apparition. When they made it to her home she murmured, “Thank you, Bellatrix, I had a lovely time,” before stepping away. 

* * *

Hermione woke late the next morning. She smiled at the memory of the beauty they had seen in the cave, and the pleasant conversation after. 

She took her morning potion, dressed, and headed to the kitchen. While her tea steeped, she prepared some marmite toast. She moved her plate and mug to the table, then walked back to her bedroom to get the book Bellatrix gave her, desiring to see which images were bookmarked. 

She munched her toast while looking through the selection of images, each bookmarked with a slip of paper, clearly from the _Daily Prophet_. She noticed the strips seemed to line up, cut from a single page of the newspaper. 

She idly lined up the strips of paper, puzzling together an article that appeared to be about St Mungo's. 

> St Mungo's - The director of the nation's premier hospital announced plans to overhaul their procedures, following severe injuries to a first-line healer and his supervisor three days ago. 
> 
> The hospital will ensure that its security staff would patrol all areas of the hospital, including those only rarely used. The decision follows an incident where a first-line healer and his supervisor fell down a rarely used staircase. Their injuries, while serious, would have been easily treated if they had been found in time. As the staircase was so rarely used, no patrolling security wizard, visitor, or colleague found them in time to treat them magically. The two were remitted to a muggle hospital for 'treatment' and so are not expected to fully recover. 
> 
> The wide-spread use of silencing charms, often used for the comfort of patients and visitors to the hospital, may have contributed to the delay in discovering the injured men. St Mungo's director claimed current policies dictate that no such spells are to be used on common areas, and denies that such charms were a factor. 

Hermione snorted, remembering the dismissive and uncaring response she and her parents had gotten when they had brought her case to the hospital administration's attention. She picked up the strips, carefully placing them between the pages for the images she wanted to share. 

* * *

Hermione and her parents had spent almost two weeks visiting Paris, Île-de-France, and Normandy. She had been delighted to visit a few museums and historical sites she was studying in her history course, and grateful her parents had booked hotels near most of the sites they went to visit. The chance to rest soon after each visit kept the holiday manageable. 

Even so, she was glad to return home. Though her parents had been more realistic about her abilities than she'd expected, they still set a schedule of site visits and hotel checkouts that Hermione had struggled to keep up with. She was looking forward to Bellatrix's next visit, curious about the sight she would get to see and happy for a chance to catch up with her friend. 

During their absence, a few pieces of mail had arrived for her, mostly administrative trivia; there was also a letter from Ginny. She laughed at the memory of the ridiculous thing the Weasley parents had sent to Harry's relatives, and figured that her having shown Ginny what to do meant there was now at least one Weasley who could use muggle mail. Even if it wasn't the one who was the Ministry's 'expert' on Muggle affairs. 

> Hi Hermione, 
> 
> I hope you're having a good summer. I'm sorry I didn't check in on how you were doing after our thestral flight and all that (mom doesn't know the details; I'd like to keep it that way). I was a bit overwhelmed. 
> 
> Our summer has been eventful. The Twins have been hard at work trying to get their prank shop going. They had a strong start, with someone buying most of their inventory, but since then it seems like their experiments have been going wrong a lot. They've been suffering their own pranks **a lot** , and have blown up their room, dad's shed, and part of the orchard. I overheard them talking about being sick of this and that maybe they should focus more on helpful products. Who knows, maybe they'll end up opening another business entirely. 
> 
> Ron had a bit of a mishap while he was flying and broke his ankle. He claims his broom bucked and threw him off; I expect he was practising some feint he's not skilled enough for. 
> 
> The healer we took Ron to tried to use the regular healing spells and potions, but for some reason they didn't work. The healer said it’s rare, but will sometimes happen. He told us to take Ron to a muggle hospital, where he would then have surgery. Dad told us what the doctor (surgeon?) said, but dad's explanation wasn't very clear. He mentioned fixating and screws, but exactly how that's meant to work and what happens after I don't know. 
> 
> Could you describe what I should expect for Ron? (Well, other than him whining and stuffing his face. I mean with the surgery and all that.) 
> 
> Thank you very much. 
> 
> Hugs, 
> 
> Ginny 

Hermione snorted. She hoped the twins’ 'joke' shop would never see the light of day; nobody needed more of their flavour of bullying. Not that that's what she would write to Ginny: a note that an alternative path may turn out to be better would be the extent of what she'd share. 

Ron's transfer to a muggle hospital no doubt caused massive confusion at that institution, with parents who have no clue how _anything_ works. She wondered if the blandness of hospital food would counteract his gluttony. 

She wrote a quick response, explaining how such surgeries work, the subsequent physiotherapy (and that if Ron slacked on that, too, that he'd be doing himself anything but a favour), and to expect to have to do some serious pain management in the future. She also mentioned that further surgeries could be necessary, so this might not be a one-time thing. 

She briefly wondered if it was mean or kind to have included the observation that neither a quidditch career nor a job as an auror was likely after having sustained such an injury, but decided she didn't care. 

* * *

Bellatrix arrived early, eager to show Hermione another magical site. Hermione's bleary eyes and drawn face, and the hastily tied robe, made it obvious today was not going to be the day they made that trip. 

Hermione was apologetic, but Bellatrix waved her apologies away. 

“Would you like to come in for a few minutes? There's tea, if you'd like, and you could eat some of the breakfast you brought? 

“I'm not up for eating this morning; I've had some potions. If I can I'll take a nutrition potion later. I'll take a sleeping draught later anyway.” 

They chatted, quietly, while Bellatrix nibbled some of the pastries she brought and tried to reassure Hermoine that she was not upset at this turn of events, that such things happen, and that she did not blame Hermione at all. 

Bellatrix didn't stay long, as Hermione clearly was exhausted and in pain, and as she left tried to reassure her friend all was well, wishing her swift relief. 


	4. The Outer Hebrides & A Difficult Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella takes Hermione to see a family of Hebridean Blacks. A few days later Bella asks a difficult question.

A few days later, Bellatrix made her next appearance. She had shown up quite early that morning, again with a promised breakfast in hand. She had asked if Hermione was up for the trip, made sure they had everything she needed with them, and then apparated them to one of the islands in the Outer Hebrides. 

They sat, companionably, looking out over the sea at the neighbouring island where a family of Hebridean Blacks roosted. Bellatrix had brought a selection of pastries, a flask of tea, and some fruit. 

The parents were hunting – fishing – and feeding their catch to the young dragonets. The youngsters seemed to not be fledging yet, rollicking and romping near their nest. One of the dragonets charged another, running into it and both rolling over. 

“Aren't they magnificent?” Bellatrix asked, wonder and awe in her voice. Hermione nodded silently. 

“No matter how many times I visit, I’m always astounded at how beautiful they are, how majestic. 

“This was something I feared I might have lost in Azkaban. I was afraid that the harshness, the mental torture when they let the dementors roam, and the emptiness, framed by the ever present sounds and smells of the sea, would have tainted _this_ with pain.” 

Hermione reached for Bellatrix' hand and squeezed it. 

“I came to visit here almost as soon as I was released. I don't think I've ever felt so relieved as when I saw them hunt and all I could feel was pure awe.” 

“Ever since my first visit here, and having learned how rare dragons have become, I've been hesitant to use dragon parts in potions, or to wear clothing made from dragons, unless I know it was made from shed skins, or from dragons who died a natural death. It almost feels like sacrilege to deprive the world of this pure _embodiment_ of Magic.” 

She sighed forcefully. “Hear me talking, with my past, with what I've done.” 

Hermione shushed her, shaking her head. “No, I get it. There's something about seeing them be, more so than some other beings, that makes dragons feel like they _are_ magic, rather than just _having_ magic.” 

Bella nodded, squeezing Hermione's hand, but stayed silent. 

When the dragons and dragonets had all returned to their nest, to sleep through the warmest part of the day, Hermione and Bella packed up and apparated to Diagon Alley for a late lunch. Bella guided her towards a nice bistro she had enjoyed before, opened the door and waved her in. 

Hermione hadn't thought to hide her crutches, and almost immediately one of the waiters snapped at her that “those freaky things” weren't welcome and to keep her “deformities” out of sight of their customers. Mortified, Hermione stood motionless for a moment. Bella sidled up to her, put a calming hand on her shoulder, and looked the waiter in the eye. 

The man hemmed and hawed and tried to welcome “the esteemed Ms Black and her guest.” Bella's expression remained dark, and though she didn’t raise her voice, her reply that they would go elsewhere, “where _all_ those blessed by magic are welcome”, carried clearly throughout the suddenly quiet establishment. Bella's hand on her shoulder guided Hermione back towards the door. 

“I am so sor-,” Bella started, before Hermione interrupted, “They're not your words, Bella. It's not your fault.” 

“But…” 

“No. He made his choice, you have made yours.” 

“Would you like to try somewhere else,” Bella asked hesitantly, and continued, dejectedly “or would you prefer to go home?” 

“Hey, Bella,” Hermione soothed, “don't let one idiot ruin our day. Let's go to Fortescue's; it won't be as fancy as that bistro, but he does nice paninis and lovely ice cream for after, and I know he's fine with me and my crutches.” 

The lunch was pleasant, and the sampler platter, containing a shot glass of each of his ice cream flavours, was a delight. They ended up spending quite a bit of time sampling his wares, all the while running through a medley of topics. 

“One of the interesting potions that includes scales from a Hebridean Black is _infaustus infausti_. It's sometimes called the 'unluck potion', but in a way it's much more subtle than that.” Hermione sat up straighter, keen to hear more about this potion, which hadn't been covered in Snape's abominable lessons. 

“You know about _felix felicis_?” She asked, lowering her voice to add, “The person that named those potions should be drawn and quartered, the illiterate fool.” 

Hermione nodded and grinned. “The 'luck potion'; it's supposed to make the user feel blissful while they stumble through their day, having the luckiest outcomes of any choices they make.” 

Bella nodded. “ _Infaustus infausti_ doesn't cause the _outcome_ to be unlucky, but it seems to make the path to get there as unpleasant as possible. You may still meet the love of your life, it just may be as you're being treated for major burns, say, rather than having run across them earlier that day, when you happened to be carrying their favourite flowers.” 

They ordered a pot of tea, to have something warm to balance all the frozen treats. 

“Oh, right,” Hermione remembered, “Heckle mailed me, saying his scar didn't hurt and he didn't have any visions since the Department of Mysteries. How did that work, then, considering what you told me about _his_ identity?” 

“That was a thing Dolohov came up with, when he realised that a piece of the identity-masking crystal must have gotten lodged in, ahem, Heckle's scar that Samhain evening.” 

At Hermione's questioning look, Bella clarified, “Well, back then we created a crystal that contained quite a complex set of spells. It combined a glamour, to make whoever who wore it look and sound like _him_ , but then it also replaced the wearer's magical signature with one we made up.” 

“ _That night_ , when Riddle went off the deep end, killed the Potters and ended up doing himself in, too, we figure the crystal must have shattered and a piece must have lodged itself in the kid's head. Why Dumbledore never bothered to have it taken out, I don't know.” 

At that Hermione sank deep in thought, quieting Bella. After a few minutes, she offered, “Dumbledore has been talking about you-know-who surviving that night, and he means Tom Riddle. The crystal you all made probably registers as having that made-up magical signature, so if a remnant is stuck in _Potter_ then that's probably why the headmaster thinks there's still something of the man left.” 

Bella's eyes widened. “Oh my goodness. The man believes in souls and soul magic. He probably thinks there's some piece of Riddle's soul stuck in the kid. Which would make sense, as he thinks the prophecy applies to Riddle. 

“And Dolohov's thing, sending fake visions to the kid to lure him to the hall of prophecies, using the new crystal we made, which has the same signature as the old one, probably reinforced Dumbledore's beliefs.” 

She shook her head. 

“Is there some way you can tell Heckle to go to a healer to have that piece of crystal removed? Or to a doctor, if he doesn't trust a healer to not go running to Dumbledore first.” 

Hermione shrugged. “I could send him a letter. It'll have to be by owl, because who knows where he's staying now that he's hanging out with your cousin.” 

Bella snorted. “Right, the one the ministry didn't even bother going through the motions for. Well, Potter was so accommodating that night, we'll have to do him a favour in return and maybe send Pettigrew to the DMLE or so.” 

Hermione tilted her head. “How do you mean, accommodating?” 

“The big idea came from Dolohov, who came up with sending Potter visions through the crystal shard. Lucius had decided to take point on the mission, but he had become so rabid about 'making the brat hand the prophecy over', dragging Dolohov into his frenzy, that one of the people on the team got fed up and cast a jinx at him.” 

She paused. “It probably would have been less _impactful_ if it weren't a jelly-legs jinx and if it hadn't been cast at the top of the stairs.” 

Shrugging, she added, “Well, Cissy never much cared for him anyway, especially seeing how controlling of their son he was.” 

“Anyway, his… sudden absence meant that Alecto took over. She decided we'd stay hidden if we could, letting him find the prophecy and maybe play it within earshot. He kindly obliged, so we had no need to cast a single spell that night. 

After the prophecy was revealed, the team showed themselves, had a brief chat, and ended up offering him and his friends a swift return to the thestrals.” 

They finished the last of their ice cream, drained the tea pot, and headed out. Hermione stopped in at the Owl Office to send a note to Harry and then rejoined Bella, who had taken the opportunity to send a few small parcels herself. 

The two began a stroll down Diagon Alley, though the many obstacles and uneven surfaces made it somewhat hard going; they called it quits after not too long, having made plans to meet up again soon. 

* * *

For Bellatrix' next visit, they ended up staying in, with Hermione spending most of her time laying down trying to manage her flare-up. 

They had a quiet time, chatting over tea and biscuits, supplemented with potions where necessary. They spoke about their favourite books, interesting bits of magic lore, their previous outings, and the next destination Bellatrix had in mind. 

“Hermione,” Bellatrix had started, uncertainty evident in her voice, “at the next place I'd like for us to visit...” she hesitated for a moment. “I have an oblation to make. I owe it to my patron, but don't wish to make you uncomfortable.” 

Hermione's bright voice cut in, “Right, to Hecate, no?” 

Bellatrix looked at Hermione, bewildered. “How did you know?” 

“You mentioned Her when you spoke about your time in Azkaban.” 

“Oh.” Bellatrix was clearly flustered. “Oh.” She paused. “That is…” She saw Hermione's worried expression, swallowed, and took a few breaths before trying again. 

“It is considered… _uncouth_ to talk about the details of one's praxis with people who aren't family, those set to join one's family, or known to share the same praxis. 

“And with the ministry declaring a bunch of practices 'dark' and forbidding them, it has become very much something that is no longer talked about, much to the detriment of our magic.” 

She sighed at Hermione's perplexed expression. 

“This is one of those contexts where our culture has long been unwelcoming, even if not maliciously so, and to some extent caused muggleborn to be perpetually _other_. 

“All the Old Families hold the belief that there is something or someone who gave us our magic, who sustains our magic. We expect every mage to acknowledge this gift, though how they do so depends on their understanding of the nature of magic. 

“In a way, magical society is religious and expects everyone to do the right thing; there is an expectation of orthopraxy. 

“Confusingly enough, the exact form is left up to the individual, though in practice it tends to be determined by what beliefs one was raised in. I, as I let slip, worship Hecate. Others make obeisance to other Gods and Goddesses, or to an impersonal Magic, and there are those who consider magic a gift from a singular creator deity, so they make their offerings to that deity in thanks. 

“There is no orthodox set of beliefs for those raised in this tradition, but one _must_ give thanks or offer respect. The one belief that we do share, and that underlies this peculiar combination of practices, is that not acknowledging the source of our magic weakens our magic.” 

Hermione's expression wavered between irate and fascinated. “Why is this the first I've ever heard of this; it's not covered at _Hogwarts_ and I don't remember it being covered at all in the etiquette and culture books I found.” 

She hesitated a moment. “It may have been mentioned obliquely, come to think of it, but with so little detail as to be useless, certainly.” 

Bellatrix nodded. “In trying to accommodate the variety of practices, it became something that should not be spoken about in polite society, and later, with the rise of the Ministry and its banning of certain practices, often of families in political disfavour, people became even less likely to share. 

“By hiding that part of our society, we excluded muggleborn from a source of strength and from truly belonging.” She sighed sadly, then in a low voice added, “Another thing we should atone for, even if the Ministry carries some of the blame.” 

Hermione reached for Bellatrix' hand, squeezing it in comfort. Both sat, deep in thought. The silence was broken by Hermione's stomach growling, and she blushed. They walked to the kitchen, hand in hand, and made themselves some sandwiches. 

After lunch, Hermione took a nap while Bellatrix read a book from Hermione's library of books on magic (a library she had been building since her first visit to Diagon Alley, and which she kept in her trunk, hidden from view). 

Her parents had some function to attend at her mother's hospital, so wouldn't be home until late. Hermione called a local Indian restaurant, ordering a meal for the two of them. She wasn't very hungry, but even so enjoyed the meal and Bellatrix' company. 


	5. The Northern Forest, an Oblation, and a Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione answers Bella's difficult question. They visit the Northern Forest, make an oblation, and afterward go to visit one of Bella's sisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A content note is at the end of the chapter.

A few days later Bella arrived to take the two of them to their next destination. Bella waited in the hallway for Hermione to grab her coat and bag. Hermione hesitated, then turned back and faced Bella. 

“Bella, last visit you asked me if I'd be comfortable with you making an oblation during this trip. 

“I've spent some time thinking about what you said, and even went back to the few books that mentioned the subject.” Bella's expression, even through her usual stoic mask, showed how anxious the topic made her. 

“I would be perfectly comfortable with you performing your ritual. Moreover, I would be immensely grateful if you'd allow me to participate, and welcome me to your praxis, with all that entails.” 

Bella's mask broke and was replaced by a brilliant smile. She kneeled, reached behind her to unhook an onyx and silver dagger from her belt, and laid it on her upturned palms, presenting it to Hermione. 

“Please,” she said, awestruck, “please accept this as a welcome to the sodality which honours Hecate and Her gift to us.” 

Hermione looked pleadingly at Bella as she reached for the dagger, unsure of how exactly she was expected to respond. 

She stumbled over her words. “Thank you for this gift and for your...” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “Your valued guidance in honouring our Lady.” She ended her sentence with rising pitch, almost as though it were a question. 

Bella smiled and nodded, stood up and gently hugged her. “Remember, pet, intent matters. It matters more than the precise words you choose to use, though the words you chose were perfect.” 

Hermione smiled in turn and looked at the dagger in her hand, turning it over to see how to attach it to her own belt. She reached behind her with her left – and more flexible – arm, and hooked the dagger in place. 

She went to get her coat and bag and rejoined Bella, who apparated them to their destination. 

On her left beyond the cliffs she could see a small strip of beach, beyond it a vast expanse of sea. To her right was forest, the edge sprawling with growth all vying for the light of the stretch of grassland they had landed in. 

“This is as close as I could apparate us,” Bella said apologetically, “and while the walk there is a bit of a winding path, it is smooth. Let me know if ever you want to rest; this trip is for you, after all.” 

Hermione grinned. “And for _Her_.” 

Bella smiled in return, half-shrugging her acceptance of that observation. She guided them in the direction of the forest. 

“Where are we, then?” Hermione asked. 

“We're at the South-West corner of the so-called 'forbidden forest'. It used to just be called the Northern Forest; it's the northernmost magic enclave on the mainland. 

“The professors at Hogwarts decided to refer to the section near the castle as the forbidden forest, to make it clear to students that it was off limits to them, as they would not know how to respectfully interact with the Centaurs, or leave the dryad groves be, or-” 

“…avoid the acromantula colony,” Hermione chimed in. 

“Pardon?” Bella's incredulity was obvious, both in her expression and in her voice. 

“Hagrid, you know, the groundskeeper, has some issues he should probably see a mind healer for, including an inability to know what a dangerous animal is. He hand-reared a pair of acromantula and then released them in the forest.” 

“But… But… But…” Bella was left speechless. “They're not native to this biome, they don't have any natural enemies here! They'll grow a colony and then at some point overwhelm everyone in the forest and possibly beyond.” 

Hermione could see Bella's mind ticking. After a few minutes Bella seemed to have come to a decision. 

“Anyway,” she said, “that 'forbidden forest' name proved too tempting for the Ministry, so they eventually decided to declare the whole forest off-limits, ignoring the fact – or maybe enjoying the fact – that for many of us there are ritual sites in this forest, and beings we have longstanding agreements with, from the Centaurs to the last free elves in Britain.” 

“Free elves?” Hermione's eyes lit up. 

Bella nodded sadly. “Elves are beings of pure magic, made by our Lady and tasked with helping all those who have magic, so that magic might grow more freely, with us freed from some of the drudgery of daily life. As their task took them near magical beings, Unicorns, Centaurs, Mages,… the Elves were created so they'd thrive on the presence of others' magic. 

“At some point some mage worked out that, as beings of magic, their word is their reality. It was possible to make an elf take a vow that would change the elf's reality. Rather than letting Her work be done this miserable _wǣrloga_ tricked them into servitude. 

“Worse, years later one of the headmasters at Hogwarts decided that it wasn't sufficient to have this army of elves maintain the castle, cook the meals, launder and mend their clothes. No, he wanted to have control; he wanted to be able to use the elves to spy on the staff and students, so he blackmailed all the elves at Hogwarts into swearing fealty to the office of the Headmaster, threatening them with expulsion from the magic-rich environment. He bound hundreds of free elves.” Bella sounded so dejected at that that Hermione caught up with her and caressed her back, her touch gentle. They stood in silence for a long while, taking strength in each other's presence. 

Then they continued their walk in companionable silence. Hermione had expected that the narrow path with its brambles and vines would prove a difficulty with her crutches, but somehow they never got caught, never tangled. 

They came to a perfectly round clearing, sunlight illuminating the site, flowers outlining an interior circle, and at its focus a beautifully veined stone. 

Before she could step into the clearing, Bella signalled to wait. She conjured them seats, and once seated, offered Hermione a drink of water. 

“There is _one_ good reason for Hogwarts, the way it teaches _ex cathedra_ , to not teach ritual magic. Incomplete wanded magic, a partially spoken spell or an aborted wand movement, tends not to do anything. Sometimes some effect is seen, but usually that's easy enough to undo. 

“Ritual magic is not so forgiving. Once you start a ritual you _must_ see it through. Starting but not completing a healing ritual would not only fail to heal your patient, it would stop other magical healing from working on that injury. Not completing an oblation ritual may keep one's magic locked. Leaving a transformation ritual incomplete may leave its subject 'in between', never quite one thing or another.” 

Bella looked at Hermione and smiled at her keen expression. 

“The moment you step into the circle you commit to today's ritual oblation. We'll just make a small offering, thanking our Lady for her gift of Magic, for her guidance and protection. 

“Is it acceptable if I transform your clothes into a shift for this ritual? We can leave our bags and robes here; they will be safe.” 

Hermione nodded, placing her bag and robe next to a nearby tree, just off the path. 

“I will kneel during the ritual. You don't have to if it would take too much out of you. Our Lady knows. Remember, _intent_ matters. Bowing your head or even a half curtsy, a quiet moment in your mind… any of those will do. Offer what you can. Focus on your gratitude, on your delight in Magic, on the feelings you had when you saw the Hebridean Blacks, or the wonders in the Crystal Cave…” She trailed off. 

Hermione nodded in understanding. Bella transfigured their clothes into loose shifts, a belt around their waist, their ritual daggers affixed to their respective belts. 

The moment Hermione stepped in the circle she felt welcome. She could feel her magic; it was not roiling, but it was _attentive_. Bella and Hermione walked, in silence, to the middle of the circle. 

Bella knelt. Hermione made a half-curtsy, leaning on her crutches, then bowed her head. 

Bella reached behind her, releasing her ritual dagger from its sheath. Hermione mirrored her actions. Bella placed the knife's sharp edge against her palm and with a swift motion cut a long line, blood welling up.Hermione followed suit, her eyes transfixed on the sight of blood oozing into her cupped hand. 

Bella waited for the blood to pool in her hand, then addressed their patron, offering the blood, their essence, as a symbol of gratitude for Her gift of magic, a gift made from Her essence. She tilted her hand, blood dripping onto the veined stone at the centre of the circle. The blood vanished as it touched the stone. 

Hermione thought of the feeling she had had when sharing her magic in the cave. She thought of the majestic dragons. She thought of the feeling when first she held her wand. She thought of the delight she felt each time she learned more magic. 

She tilted her hand, letting the accumulated blood drip onto the stone below her. She felt a soothing warmth suffuse her; the cut on her hand healed, leaving no trace. 

They both remained as they were, Bella kneeling, Hermione bowing, basking in their feelings. 

Eventually Bella waved her hand over her dagger, cleaning away the blood and returned the knife to its sheath. Hermione tried the cleaning spell wandlessly and wordlessly, unwilling to break the silence or reach for her wand. The spell, as she expected yet somehow also to her surprise, succeeded; she thanked the Lady with a whispered word and returned the knife to its location on the back of her belt. 

Bella stood up, elegant as ever, and waited for Hermione to rise from her bowed position. They returned to the edge of the circle in silence. 

Outside the circle, Bella undid the transformation of their clothes, and Hermione stepped close to her friend, hugging her close, and whispered in her ear. “Bella, love, thank you for introducing me to Our Lady. Thank you so much.” 

Invigorated, they walked back to the edge of the forest. 

“Would you…” Bella hesitated. “My sister has invited us to join her for lunch. Would you like to take her up on her invitation?” 

“Your sister?” 

“Narcissa. Narcissa Black, for a while Malfoy.” 

“Oh.” Hermione paused. “Our few interactions were… strained. I'm not sure accepting this invitation would be-” 

Bella interrupted her. “She wishes to express her apologies for those; she was, considering her spouse, constrained in how she was able to… interact.” 

Hermione's uncertainty was evident. After a few moments it was replaced by determination. “I think, considering,” she waved in the direction of the ritual circle, “it would be good to meet your sister.” 

Bella smiled, gratefully. “You don't have to. If at any point you feel uncomfortable we can just leave; I won't hold it against you.” 

Hermione shook her head. “No, let's do it.” She smiled, even if it was a little strained. “But thank you.” 

Bella apparated them to the ornate front gate of Malfoy Manor. As they made their way to the front door, they passed by minutely manicured gardens, floral displays colourful highlights in the sea of green. 

“I'm sorry I couldn't apparate us closer to the front door, but as we're both guests I could not cross the wards.” 

Hermione waved her apology away and marvelled at the impressive floral tableaus. “This is a pleasant walk and the gardens are a sight to see. Even if I'm grateful I do not have such a garden to maintain.” 

Bella smiled at that. “Cissy likes to make an impression.” 

Once they neared the manor the front door opened and Narcissa Mal… Black's clear voice rang out, “Bella, you came!” 

“Cissy, may I introduce Ms Hermione Jean Granger. 

“Hermione, may I introduce Ms Narcissa Talitha Black, the regent Malfoy.” 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms Granger, and please accept my apologies for my coldness during our previous meetings. My late husband's poor choices reflect on us all, to my sorrow.” 

Hermione hesitated for a moment, uncertain how to respond. “It is a pleasure to properly meet you, Ms Black, and thank you.” 

They were guided to the sitting room. Bella leaned over and whispered in Hermione's ear. “This is the more pleasant choice; the formal dining room is stuffy and _bo-ring_.” Hermione offered her a small, nervous smile. 

The initial conversation was stilted and awkward. All three sat in the bright room, nibbling sandwiches and sipping tea, uncertain how to get the conversation going. Hermione could see Bella fretting at the strained conversation, so she mentally committed to answer Narcissa's next question with more than a few words. 

“Have you decided what you will do after this summer, Ms Granger? I hear from Bella that you expect excellent OWL results; will you return to Hogwarts, then, to pursue NEWTs?” 

Bella's eyes widened in alarm. 

Before she could intervene, Hermione calmly responded, “I don't think I'll pursue my NEWTs there. While there are some topics it would be interesting to receive some more instruction in, such as animagus transformations and spell crafting, the offerings at Hogwarts don't feel worth it.” 

“No interest in pursuing more potions instruction? Meda seems to be in need of potion masters, but few seem to pursue that career, it seems.” 

“Meda?” 

“Ah, our other sister, Andromeda Tonks. We had been estranged, but the change in our familial situations,” Narcissa motioned at both herself and Bella, “has allowed us to get to know each other again. She is the main potioneer for St Mungo's, but seems to be having difficulties finding qualified people to join her. 

“Of course, it is not the most glorious of positions. Healers tend to make the spotlights, while those ensuring that essential potions are available, and those in other supporting positions, tend to be overlooked.” 

Hermione nodded, having noticed the same during her stays at hospital. “I guess it would be easier to find qualified people if the potions instructor at Hogwarts taught everyone rather than just his own house.” 

Clearly taken aback, Narcissa asked “How do you mean, Ms Granger?” 

“I only found this out this last year, during study sessions with a few Slytherins I shared Arithmancy and Ancient Runes with. Potions instruction has, for us not in Slytherin, consisted of walking into class, being insulted, having _professor_ Snape point at basic instructions written on the blackboard and being told to brew the potion in question. 

“If we needed special ingredients, we were expected to go retrieve them from the classroom's potion cupboard. If we had questions about techniques or ingredient interactions we would be mocked for being 'dunderheads' and if we were injured, irrespective of whether it was due to interference or error, we'd be mocked.” 

She shrugged. “The only reason I am halfway decent at potion making,” Bella snorted but didn't interrupt, “is that I met a kind potioneer before my first year, a tiny lady with long white hair, who recommended extra volumes to supplement the meagre mandatory works Hogwarts prescribed. 

“It turns out that every evening, _professor_ Snape teaches the theory of the potions he assigns that week in one of the Slytherin study rooms. Slytherins thus get a _complete_ education, while everyone else is left to flounder.” 

Narcissa's expression tightened. “Am I to understand, Ms Granger, that _that man_ has been sabotaging the education of three quarters of the school, for years?” 

Hermione nodded. 

“Did he,” Narcissa asked, “at least provide proper safety instructions, essential spells, ingredient selection and care?” 

Hermione shook her head. “No, Ms Black, he did not.” She could see fury building behind Narcissa's eyes. 

“So not only,” she bit, “has _that man_ been neglecting three quarters of the school, he's been endangering all of it. 

“And _Lucius_ thought him a suitable compater,” she scoffed. 

“Did the, ahem, headmaster not intervene?” Bella asked. 

“He,” Hermione said, imitating Dumbledore's grandfatherly speech, “has complete confidence in professor Snape.” 

Bella and Narcissa exchanged a glance. 

Narcissa spoke up, “As you know, Ms Granger,” 

Hermione interrupted, the heat of their shared anger having broken the ice, “Hermione, please.” 

“Narcissa, then,” their hostess smiled. 

“Bella mentioned you have shown quite a bit of skill in potion making. I myself was passionate about potions. Never enough to make it my goal, that has been and remains healing, even with marriage _delaying_ my mastery, but enough that I understand some of the dangers in teaching the discipline. 

“Badly instructed, barely knowledgeable students rummaging through a potions cabinet is a recipe for disaster. I take it Mistress Proudfoot, the kindly lady and achieved potioneer who helped you select books all those years ago, recommended a book on ingredient selection?” 

Hermione nodded. “Thank you for telling me her name; I shall have to send her a belated thank you for her assistance.” 

“Do you remember what it says about acquiring dried _kingsfoil_ and dried _moly_?” 

Hermione pondered the question. “I seem to recall the book warning to only acquire them from reputable suppliers.” 

Narcissa nodded. “They look identical in dried form, so a student who is sent to rummage through an ingredient cabinet, unsupervised, may select the wrong one, or return leftovers to the wrong container. 

“When added to the base for a nerve-steadying tonic, _kingsfoil_ will make an effective anti-convulsant. 

“Adding _moly_ to that same base will make a very effective nerve gas that would kill a classroom full of students within seconds.” 

Narcissa's expression tightened again. “So you may understand why I am somewhat _irate_ at someone being irresponsible in a potions classroom my son attends, on top of the man causing my sister no end of difficulties in her professional life.” 

Hermione nodded. 

Bella interjected, in a playful voice, “Cissy, when did you learn _my_ small talk skills?” 

Cissy spluttered. Bella belly laughed and Hermione would have berated her if she had been able to get a word in. 

Eventually Bella quieted down, giving Hermione a chance to speak up. “It's fine, Bella. It was a reasonable question, maybe more so now than at the beginning of Summer. 

“Still, I'm not likely to go back to Hogwarts, even if I'm finding more joy in magic. The place has done little to endear itself to me, after all. 

“I guess I don't know,” she mused, dispirited. “There does not seem to be a place for me in the mage world; I'm unwelcome because of my birth and my disability. The ministry is thus inaccessible twice over, ignoring the fact that it’s a corrupt nightmare. Shopkeepers don't want a _cripple_ helping out, which assumes they'd even be willing to accommodate my varying health. Pursuing a mastery seems similarly fraught. 

“The muggle world is a little better on that front, so maybe I could pursue higher education there. Whether employment follows remains to be seen, and in any case it'd be without the delight of daily magic to sustain me.” She sighed, then grimaced. “Well, I guess that belies my claim that the subject was fine.” 

Bella scooted closer to Hermione, soothingly caressing her back. “If…” Bella hesitated. “If you had no constraints, if employment weren't a problem, what interests you? What direction would you like to go?” 

She considered the question, but before she could answer the door slammed open and Draco strode in waving a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. “Mother, your cousin had a trial and was declared innocent; his time in Azkaban was in error. And he's been granted guardianship over _Potter_.” 

Draco seemed to only then realise he had barged in on a meeting. 

“My apologies; I did not realise you had guests.” 

He was silent for a moment, then turned to Hermione. 

“Ms Granger, my apologies for interrupting your conversation. 

“I would,” he coughed, “also like to apologise for my behaviour towards you at Hogwarts. I was… misled. My mother and aunt,” he nodded at Narcissa and Bella, “have made it clear how my words and actions do not befit a mage and how they have harmed you and harmed Magic. I aim to do better, going forward.” 

He stood awkwardly, waiting for her response. Narcissa seemed pleased at his words. Bella kept her soothing hands on Hermione's back. Hermione reeled from the whirlwind of topics, but after a moment's hesitation found herself responding, “Thank you, Mr Malfoy, for your apology.” 

She paused for a moment, wondering if she should add her next thought, then mentally shrugged, and continued, “I look forward to seeing you live your word.” 

Draco nodded solemnly; Narcissa beamed at them both. Bella gave Hermione a small smile and a nod, putting her at ease about her words. 

“Draco, dear, you had news about Sirius?” Narcissa said, before turning to Hermione, “My apologies for the change of subject, Hermione, but I am keen to find out how one of the few remaining members of our family is.” 

Hermione gestured, suggesting the subject change was not a hardship. 

Draco nodded and pulled up the newspaper. “Peter Pettigrew was found alive, though not well. He was an unregistered animagus, and he must have spent all the time since 1981 as an animal. It likely messed up his brain, according to the expert at the trial. As Sirius supposedly killed him all those years ago, his appearance threw the original story everyone was told into doubt. 

“It turns out Sirius did not originally receive a trial, but was just thrown into Azkaban. Once he was finally given a trial, he testified under veritaserum that he was not the Potter's secret keeper and did not cast that spell that killed those muggles; it was Pettigrew both times.” 

Draco seemed excited to be able to share the news; his speech was on the fast side and he was not quite as still as usual. 

“He was meant to be Potter's guardian. Dumbledore placed Potter with some unsuitable people and tried after the trial to interfere with the decision to grant Sirius guardianship. He was censured and may lose his position as Prolocutor of the Wizengamot.” 

Narcissa nodded. “I hope his time in Azkaban, though not deserved, gave him an opportunity to untangle _Walburga_ 's sins from those of the family. I've missed him since she chased him away, but fear he may paint us all with the same brush.” 

Bella hummed in agreement, then turned to Hermione. “Both his and our parents bought into the pureblood nonsense, but his mother tied _everything_ the Black family did into that, so when he rebelled against the prejudice he also rebelled against the good parts of our inheritance. He rejected Our Lady and any similar religious sentiment. His mother's paranoia led her to bind an elf, so he rejected the family's stance on elves as nonsense and hypocrisy. We've long used ritual magic, so he rejected all of that, too. The family distrusted the Ministry, so he joined them as an auror.” She paused a moment. “They still threw him to the wolves, though. 

“Meda was the only one to figure it out early: she ran off and eloped. It took me until I met my mentor in Azkaban to see sense.” 

Narcissa nodded. “It took me a shamefully long time. I knew early on that something was wrong , but it took seeing what it did to Draco to truly understand. At that point Lucius was too controlling for me to counter any of it.” 

“I could,” Hermione paused. “I could write him a letter, maybe, or offer to be there when you meet. He may trust me to some extent; I helped him get away from the Dementors at Hogwarts, back in third year. 

After a few moments, she added, “but maybe your sister should be the one to invite him; he may accept more from her, as she left, too?” 

Draco excused himself from the gathering, leaving to meet with one of his friends. The conversation shifted to less fraught topics, ranging from the beautiful Malfoy gardens to tea preferences to their shared lack of interest in Quidditch (though Bella had enjoyed playing while at Hogwarts, she never cared for the sport as a spectator). 

Narcissa invited Bella and Hermione to stay for dinner and seeing Hermione's hesitation promised it would be a simple meal and wouldn't run late, which was enough for her to acquiesce. 

The dinner was small, eaten in the conservatory looking out over the beautifully lit gardens. Bella taught Hermione how to make a small oblation, giving up a tiny serving of her meal in gratitude to their Patroness. 

“It is something you can do at any meal. It requires no spell, just your intent will do, and the offering will turn to smoke and vanish. You can do it hidden, for when you are with people who might frown upon your commitment to Our Lady.” She demonstrated, once with a spoonful of food, hidden behind her hand, once with a small morsel of bread, held under the table. 

“Anything can be an offering, but I avoid giving something that was made with magic. It feels too much like using what is Hers to give to Her.” 

Hermione nodded in understanding. 

“That's one of the reasons you'll find a kitchen tailored for humans even in houses where elves do most of the cooking. It lets an occasional meal be made by hand, both as a reminder of what magic gives us, and as a way of making something for Her. 

“The one exception, when it comes to giving only items made without magic, is masterpieces. Those feel like they are suitable celebrations of what Magic brings us, though I feel it more appropriate to dedicate those, rather than offering them.” Hermione smiled and nodded. 

After dinner they said their goodbyes, committing to visiting again soon. Bella apparated them to the hidden spot near the garden shed. Hermione hugged her goodbye and thanked her for a lovely day before walking to her home. She looked back just as she reached the door and gave a small wave and a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few sentences that deal with characters cutting themselves in the context of the ritual use of blood.


	6. Diagon Alley & Meeting Another Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella and Hermione visit the Masters' Hall at Gringotts. The next day they have lunch with Andromeda Tonks.

“It's both interesting and sad how many mages fail to realise that so much spectacular magic exists near them. Every mage in Britain comes to Diagon Alley at least once, to either buy a wand or find one in their family vaults… yet so few think to consider that there's a whole nation of magic users here.

“They have their own culture, their arts, their crafts, _and_ their magic. The guardians of the Nation at Gringotts are kind enough to let any magical being visit and experience at least some of it.”

Bella shrugged. “Well, mages haven't been very interested in understanding others for quite a while, so I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise.” She paused a moment. “Still disappointing, though.”

Hermione nodded.

They were walking from the apparition point near the Leaky Cauldron to Gringotts. Bella had picked up Hermione at home; they had eaten a late breakfast together before setting out.

Bella gently touched Hermione's shoulder, drawing her attention. “Do you mind if I pop in here for a minute?” motioning at the Owl Office. “I have a few parcels still to mail.” 

Hermione smiled and shook her head. “That's fine; I'll hang out here and enjoy the morning sun.”

Bella nodded and headed inside. Hermione saw the sandwich board showing today's _Daily Prophet_ front page. She stepped closer when she saw the headline said something about a fire near Hogsmeade, and started reading the article

> **Hogsmeade spared from 'Forbidden Forest' Fire**
> 
> Villagers in Hogsmeade breathed a sigh of relief as winds kept smoke from the 'Forbidden Forest' Fire near Hogwarts away from the village for another day. Fire fighters expect the inferno to burn out by tomorrow evening, though smoldering may continue for a day or two afterwards.
> 
> Prevailing winds keep the smoke drifting towards Hogwarts, luckily closed for summer. The only resident of the castle at this time of year is its headmaster, who was not available for comment. Rubeus Hagrid, resident of the Hogwarts grounds, was taken into protective custody by aurors who were called by the attending fire fighters. The Hogwarts groundskeeper had tried multiple times to breach the wards surrounding the fire, shouting about his friends being in danger. The firefighters have performed spells covering the affected area and found no indication any humans were present, leading them to take a less aggressive approach at fighting the fire.
> 
> “We don't know who set the wards surrounding this fire,” the Fire Service spokesperson said, “but they have saved the rest of the 'Forbidden Forest'. They placed this ward before the Fire Service was made aware of this fire. Without this ward, a change in prevailing winds could have brought this fire to Hogsmeade, but once again the presence of the ward ensured the safety of all in the area.”
> 
> A firefighter who spoke to the 'Daily Prophet' on condition of anonymity, as they are not authorised to talk to the press, said that when they first arrived on site they could hear chittering, clicking, and high-pitched screams. No known inhabitants of the 'Forbidden Forest' make such sounds. There have been rumours of acromantula living in the forest, but a Ministry spokesperson said they were not aware of the non-native species having been introduced here. No clarity is expected in this matter until the fire burns out entirely, which may take two weeks, according to the Fire Service spokesperson.

Hermione grimaced at the Ministry's response. More than one Hogwarts student and most likely _any_ of the Centaurs could have confirmed the presence of acromantula, but both were disregarded by the institution.

Bella came bouncing out of the Owl Office. “That should be the last of that,” she enthused. “Are you ready to head to Gringotts?” Hermione smiled and nodded.

Bella matched her pace to Hermione's as they ascended the stairs to Gringott's front entrance. They stopped halfway up; Bella curtsied to the two guards, Hermione bowed her head in greeting. She had not hidden her crutches today, so figured the two Kobehold would forgive her for not risking her stable footing.

The guards presented their halberds, welcoming the two as they made their way into Gringotts. Bella led the way, sidestepping the queues for the tellers and heading straight for one of the guarded doors off to the side of the main banking hall.

She curtsied, and Hermione, less constrained now that they were not balancing precariously on a step, made a half-curtsy. Bella spoke to the guard in a low voice. “Merry meet. May we visit the Masters' Hall today?”

The guard nodded, stepping aside to let them enter. “The walk is about 1.5km of smooth and wide path. There are no rest points along the way, but there are benches in the Hall. We can provide assistance if the walk would be beyond either of you.”

Bella turned to look at Hermione, who shook her head. “Thank you for your offer but we will walk to the Hall ourselves.” She bowed her head and stepped through the now opened door. Hermione followed her lead.

The wide hallway curved and sloped gently. The two witches made their way leisurely, talking about the reliefs lining the path, displaying key moments in Kobehold history. None of the events was depicted in isolation: each was linked to the next event by transitioning scenes, showing more mundane events, views of daily life, Kobehold at work.

“It is part of Kobehold understanding of their history that so-called key moments only exist because many mundane things happened. The war leader exists because her parents met after a storm flooded their homes. She learned to be a good strategist because she played with a large group of clever children, because the town saw a population boom when a new mine was found.

“It is true for human history just as well, but for the Kobehold it is almost an article of faith that it is misleading to ignore those random events, so whenever they represent any so-called 'key moment', they will include references to some mundane events.”

Hermione nodded, fascinated by the way each tableau included people cooking, mending clothings, crafting tools, playing games,… and the way transitioning scenes also reflected that approach. “I wonder if,” Hermione paused. “I wonder _how_ it changes a society when they have that understanding of their history. Does it change how domestic work is seen? Does it change how leaders are seen? How insurrections are viewed?

“Once again,” she almost growled, “curse Binns and the people enabling that lacklustre spectacle.”

Bella laughed and nodded, reaching out and placing a soothing hand on Hermione's back.

They continued their walk in companionable silence, taking in the events depicted all around them.

The gentle slope smoothed out, the curve of the hallway straightened, and at the end of it an ornate double door stood open, leading to a large hall. They could see bright spots, where items were on display in well-lit places, surrounded by benches.

“I had the great fortune to meet one of the masters whose work is on display here the first time I visited,” Bella whispered. “He explained that each item has benches surrounding it, encouraging visitors to spend time viewing individual items, to take their time to feel the item's magic, to see its shape, to think about its history, to reflect about the process of its creation.”

Hermione nodded.

“He said that truly experiencing a few items is fundamentally more enriching than seeing a large multitude of them in passing. I was a feisty child.” Before Hermione could respond Bella held out her hand, asking her to hold off commenting. “Yes, I know, I am a feisty adult, too.

“He and my commater spent time with me that day, sitting me down at a few displays, telling me how they experienced the item, and all they knew about it.” She smiled at the memory. “I think that day was the day I was _truly_ introduced to magic, and even though She was never mentioned, to Our Lady.”

The two friends ambled through the hall, deciding which of the displayed items they'd spend more time with. Hermione pointed out ceremonial dress, a calculating machine, and a sword. Bella suggested a prosthetic arm, a set of daggers, and a filing cabinet.

They took their time at each of the items, feeling the magic within, considering the craft that went into its creation, describing to each other their feelings about the masterpiece, sometimes musing about mage equivalents (or the lack thereof), and at times sharing what historical context they knew. Some of the items had an information booklet, providing information about the Master Crafter who made it, who used it, and sometimes how it was made or its importance to the Nation.

Eventually they made their way back to the banking hall. As they walked towards the exit they heard some people whisper to each other about 'the cripple'. Bella straightened up, giving the whisperers a death stare. Hermione grimaced at the whispers and smiled a small smile at Bella's protectiveness.

“Where shall we lunch, pet?” Bella asked.

Hermione thought for a moment. “How about 'The Three Broomsticks'; I know it's a staple for Hogwarts students, but I never ended up going. It was always too crowded to navigate with my crutches, but it's summer break so it should be fairly quiet…”

Bella nodded. “Rosmerta is a good hostess and tends to run a decent kitchen, so that sounds like a plan. Ready?”

Hermione nodded. Bella apparated the two of them to Hogsmeade. The town was quieter than Hermione had ever seen it. While she was at Hogwarts she came down a few times on Hogsmeade days for writing supplies or books. After her first visit she had learned to avoid the more popular hangout spots and the comments, jibes, and jinxes that tended to be there for her.

The town looked picturesque in the summer sun. In the distance they could see Hogwarts, hazy in a mist of ash billowing from the Forbidden Forest. Bella reached out to touch Hermione's shoulder, and guided her towards the entrance to 'The Three Broomsticks'. There was a sign on the door listing opening hours, and one announcing the place offered food, drink, and lodging. A third, newer sign, welcomed ' **all** blessed by magic'.

Rosmerta welcomed them warmly, suggested the dish of the day, and asked for their drink preferences. Hermione ordered a butterbeer, now that she had the opportunity to drink one in peace, and Bella decided to follow suit. They chatted while they ate, making plans for their next few outings.

Hermione felt herself flagging. She leaned over to Bella and with regret explained she needed to go home and sleep. Bella, in response, caressed her face comfortingly and told her not to worry; she'd had a lovely time and would come visit tomorrow, even if only to check in.

Before she turned to walk back through her garden, Hermione hugged Bella, thanked her for a delightful day, and kissed her on the cheek. At the door she turned around, waved, and smiled, before making her way inside and to her bed.

* * *

Bella stopped by the next day, some time late morning. “Perfect timing,” Hermione beamed, opening the door, “I've just made tea.”

“I'm not interrupting your studying time, am I?”

“No, I was about to have a tea break and was considering calling it quits for the day anyway; I finished a chapter and don't feel up to starting another one.”

Bella smiled. “Are you up for having lunch with Meda today? She's working split shifts this week. She's brewing some potions that need attention at 12h intervals, and the split shift means she's free for lunch.”

Hermione thought for a moment and then nodded. “Sure. Tea first, I take it?”

Bella nodded. “We can head out at noon.”

They ended up spending the hour chatting over tea, talking about Hermione's A-level subjects and comparing them to her OWL subjects. That in turn led them to discuss art in the magical world and how it compared to art in the mundane world, which had Hermione dig out some of her favourite art books for them to peruse.

“Robe or jeans?”

“Jeans, probably. Meda lives in what used to be Ted Tonks' grandparents' house, so it's not in a magical area.”

Hermione nodded and walked to her room to change into clothing suitable for visiting Bella's sister. She picked out jeans and a summery shirt and grabbed her purse, making sure it contained the necessary complement of potions and medications.

Someone who could almost be Bella's twin sister opened the door before they had even reached it. Hermione was not given the chance to start her introduction; she was pulled into a gentle hug. “Welcome, Hermione. I can call you Hermione, right? Call me Andy, or Meda, please. It's lovely to meet you.”

Hermione smiled and nodded. “It's nice to meet you, too, Andy.”

“Come in; I was just setting the table. I'm finishing up the soup. I won't be a moment.” She pointed them at the dining table as she walked towards the kitchen.

“Wotcher, Aunt Bella. I take it this is Hermione?”

Bella nodded.

“Pleased to meet you, Hermione, I'm Tonks. _Just_ Tonks.”

Bella grinned. “My dearest niece does not particularly care for Meda's choice of given name for her. We've reached the compromise that we can call her Dora when it would avoid confusion.” Tonks' little moue even at the 'compromise' made Hermione wonder what her name was, and why she hated it so much.

“Good to meet you too, Tonks.”

Tonks smiled and pointed them at their seats at the dinner table. “Mom will be right out.”

“Dora here,” Bella said with a smirk, “was trying to be the white sheep of the Black family.”

Tonks blushed and made her displeasure clear with a drawn out “Aunt Bella!” She turned to Hermione, who had a questioning look on her face. “I joined the Auror Academy straight out of Hogwarts; I'm expected to graduate at the end of summer.

“But I've since learned about Aunt Bella's experiences, heard about Sirius' incarceration, and heard some more stories about the Ministry and the Aurory.”She shrugged. “I'm no longer convinced that was a good choice, so now need to decide what to do next.”

“I either need to work as an auror for three years – which I'm no longer keen on – or refuse to take my oath and be forever barred from working for the Ministry. That is starting to look like something I wouldn't want to do anyway, so it may not be much of a sacrifice.”

She shrugged again. “I've got about another month before I need to decide; I've got time to work things out.”

Andy's voice called out, “Nymphadora,” which answered Hermione's earlier mused question (and knowing Hogwarts' bullying culture likely answered both her questions). Tonks' face reflected her utter loathing of the name.“Could you come get the soup and bread? I'll bring cheese and such.”

Tonks headed to the kitchen, waved her wand and levitated a cutting board with bread and a pot of steaming soup to the table.

The four made some small talk while they ate the delicious soup, fresh bread, and selection of cheeses. Their futures, especially with Tonks and Hermione uncertain what they would do next, was an obvious topic of conversation.

“Hermione,” Andy said, “would you be interested in pursuing your NEWTs on your own? I understand you have no interest in returning to Hogwarts,” Hermione frowned at the thought, “but if you were to pursue your NEWTs I was wondering if you would be interested in my tutoring you in potions? I could tutor you for half a day per week in exchange for half a day of assistance in brewing some of the more complex potions I need to make.

“I understand from Bella that you are an accomplished potioneer, so your assistance would be a help for me.”

Hermione glanced at Bella, who smiled encouragingly.

“That sounds interesting,” Hermione said, “though I'm not yet quite sure what I will be doing next. Can I have some time to think about it?”

Andy nodded. “Of course. The offer stands. I would offer more tutoring time, but I am swamped with potion making and then teaching a remedial class for aspiring healers, something added to my responsibilities as so few people completed their potions NEWTs these last few years.”

Hermione nodded. “No, I understand. I think your offer is great; I just am not certain what options truly are open to me.”

Andy snorted. “Well, if you got a potions mastery you might be able to get a job at Hogwarts teaching potions. Their current _teacher_ ,” she spat the word, “seems to have had a mishap and is not likely to return.”

Tonks chimed in with more enthusiasm than is likely considered proper for an aspiring auror. “Oh, did someone finally get the dungeon bat?”

Bella laughed. “Dora, you're a Black, you are.”

Andy frowned at Tonks but nodded. “He may have gotten to himself. It seems he mixed up some ingredients while making a potion, and the vapours destroyed a chunk of his throat _and_ left him with some nerve damage.”

“He won't be brewing for the next year or so, until he heals enough that he's no longer trembling all the time. The healers had to remove parts of his throat, including his vocal chords. They won't be able to regrow those, so he's not likely to return to teaching.”

Tonks snorted. “Well, if he ends up learning sign language he may have to also learn how to show an emotion or two.”

In a flat voice, Andy added, “He may regret not teaching more people potions properly. His healer asked me to provide some specialty pain relief potions, but we don't have the resources to make those. We're limited to basic pain relief potions; we're stretched as it is, so healing potions take priority.”

“If there are so few potioneers and potion masters,” Hermione wondered, “will Hogwarts be able to find someone to teach?”

“If I had to guess,” Andy said, “I expect they'll ask Slughorn to come out of retirement to tide them over for a while. He's an okay teacher, even if sometimes it feels like he spends more time networking than teaching.” She pursed her lips. “I have no idea what they'll do longer term; I doubt Slughorn will want to give up his comfortable retirement for long.”

Tonks cleared the table and brought out some pastries and tea. Andy and Bella shared some of the funnier anecdotes of their childhood (and when Tonks laughed a bit too uproariously, Andy shared some tidbits about her daughter's childhood, too).

“If you are up for it, Hermione,” Andy said, “we were thinking of inviting Sirius to come to dinner on Saturday. We're hoping to get him to reconnect with the three of us, and I guess with the idea of the Black family. We hope also to decide what we should do next to help him out, to ensure his nepos gets his birthright.”

Hermione nodded. “Health permitting I'll be there.”

Bella turned to Hermione. “Would you mind if I joined you that morning?”

Hermione shook her head. “That'd be lovely.” She blushed. “If you come for eight you can join my parents and me for breakfast?”

Bella smiled and nodded.

Andy started to gather her things to return to St Mungo's. “I have a few potions that need some attention soon; I'm sorry to cut short this enjoyable time, but brewing waits for no one.”

Tonks sighed. “I have to go shadow an auror; it's meant to gently introduce us to our future duties. Or, for the cynics amongst us, to help create an in-culture so we don't bring up the Aurory's failures to others. Anyway, it was lovely to meet you, Hermione, and good to see you again, Aunt Bella.” She accompanied that with hugs, then dashed out of the room, grabbing her Auror-trainee cloak on the way out.

Andy walked them to the door. Once all three had stepped outside, she hugged the two goodbye before apparating to St Mungo's. Bella took Hermione back to her home, where they spent a quiet afternoon, Hermione resting and Bella reading to her.


	7. An OWL Letter, The Grangers, & Sirius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione receives her OWL results. Bella meets Hermione's parents. Sirius and Bella have a long chat, helped by the Tonks' and Hermione.

Hermione grumbled as she stood up from her desk, books and notes spread in front of her. “A bloody owl tapping on the window in the middle of the day. Must be either the Ministry or Hogwarts, but will _they_ come and sort things out with the RSPB if some birder claims I'm keeping a pet owl? Bloody nitwits.”

She reached the window, opened it, and quickly untied the letter from the owl's leg. She was grateful the owl left quickly.

She carefully broke the seal on the envelope and removed the stack of documents from it. She wanted to ignore the cover letter and just check the OWL results, but the fact there was a handwritten addition to the standard letter made her decide to read that one first.

> Dear Ms Hermione Jean Granger,
> 
> It is with great pleasure that I can send you the enclosed O.W.L. results letter. You have successfully met the requirements to graduate from Hogwarts.
> 
> Many careers and access to Mastery studies require N.E.W.T. level qualifications. Hogwarts has an outstanding program to help you achieve great results as you pursue your N.E.W.T.s.
> 
> To ensure space in the courses of your choice, please confirm your enrolment by owl before the middle of August.
> 
> Enclosed you will find your O.W.L. results letter, book list and supplies list for your first N.E.W.T. preparation year, and a notice about a substantial change to Hogwarts policy. As of the upcoming term Hogwarts will take a zero-tolerance policy on so-called pranking and bullying; the enclosed letter outlines the new policy in more detail. Non-compliance with this new policy may result in suspension and even expulsion, so please ensure you are familiar with its contents before the start of term.
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  And once again congratulations on your graduation,
> 
> /s/ 
> 
> M. McGonagall Deputy Headmaster, Hogwarts   
>  Master of Transfiguration   
>  Professor of Transfiguration, Hogwarts 

The handwritten note was to the side of the signature. The handwriting looked much less stilted than the transcription pen used for the formal part of the letter.

> Dear Ms Granger,  
>  Hermione,
> 
> I want to congratulate you on your outstanding results for your O.W.L. exams. Such spectacular results are something you should take pride in; few if any have equalled your achievements.
> 
> I wanted to take this opportunity to offer my apologies for Hogwarts' lacklustre response to your reports of bullying and pranking; I have only recently understood the severity of the problem at Hogwarts.
> 
> I hope to see you this upcoming year as you prepare for undoubtedly impressive N.E.W.T. scores,
> 
> Regards, 
> 
> /s/

Hermione wrinkled her nose. Too little, too late. She browsed through the other pages of the letter, ignoring the book and supply lists and skimming the promised new policy description (she thought it not bad, if only they could be trusted to actually implement it thus), before she got to the O.W.L. results.

All 'Outstanding', except for a single 'Exceeds Expectations', in Care of Magical Creatures. The letter informed her that the trace on her wand would be lifted on the 15th of August, when the O.W.L. results would be certified, and confirmed that she had completed the mandatory component of her schooling.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Even if she knew beforehand that she had done sufficiently well, having the confirmation in hand felt like a weight off her shoulders.

* * *

Hermione beamed and hugged Bella, waving her inside. “Mom and dad are waiting for us to join them. They'll head out after breakfast; they're off on a weekend trip to hang out with friends from university.”

The conversation between the four proved unexpectedly easy-going, albeit with a brief moment of tension when Hermione's parents asked where they had met.

“We...” Hermione offered after a moment's hesitation, “ended up on a last-minute trip to the Ministry. It was a bit chaotic, not well-organised at all. Bella was there for a project she's involved in; she ended up supporting me when my fatigue caught up with me.”

Their light-hearted conversation meandered, though they avoided talking about magic or magical culture beyond the basics; Hermione's parents were long used to her reticence on that front.

As Hermione's parents were heading out they hugged Bella, mentioned they were pleased Hermione had found such a good friend, and hoped to see each other again in the future.

Bella and Hermione tidied the breakfast table and made themselves another pot of tea, taking it into the sitting room. Just before they got settled in, Hermione remembered she had gotten her O.W.L. results, so hurried to her room to retrieve the letter to share with Bella.

Bella skimmed the cover letter, then searched through the stack of paper before turning to Hermione, a beaming smile on her face. “I am so incredibly proud of you, pet, this is a magnificent result.” Hermione blushed.

Bella turned back to the cover letter, tilting it to read McGonagall's note, which she did with a huff. She pulled up the page describing the new anti-bullying and anti-pranking policy and nodded. “I guess she may have gotten some mail this summer.”

At Hermione's questioning look she continued.

“Ever since Dumbledore took over, the school has been notoriously lax about pranking and bullying, ignoring years and years of complaints. However, if she and some of her colleagues had gotten mail that, say, _demonstrated_ the impact a campaign of pranks may have on someone, then that's something that can only have happened during summer break.”

“How so?”

“Well, during summer the staff live elsewhere, so they rely on their own mail wards. During the school year, mail for Hogwarts' professors needs to get through the school's wards. Those are set up to refuse delivery of any item that would endanger or prank its staff.”

Hermione's furious expression gave Bella pause. “What's wrong, little witch?”

“ _That school_ ensures its staff can't be pranked, but allowed one of Skeeter's acolytes to send me an exploding envelope of bloody _bubotuber pus_.”

It took a lot of soothing before Bella got the whole story of Skeeter's character assassination and its aftermath, and the complete non-response by the school. They sat together for a while, sipping their tea, quietly coming down from their anger.

“I agree with you,” Bella said, breaking the silence, “that Hogwarts is not the place to pursue further education. Maybe we can ask Cissy and Meda if they have suggestions on how best to proceed; you know we all will support you, whatever you choose to do next.”

Hermione nodded with damp eyes. “Thank you, Bella.”

They sat together, quietly chatting about lighthearted topics until lunchtime, when they ambled to the kitchen and made themselves a light lunch. Before they started eating, both offered a small part of their serving to their Patroness, smiling at each other in recognition.

“I've felt more connected to my magic,” Hermione said, “ever since you introduced me to Our Lady and I started making my obeisances. Even when I'm not casting magic I feel it hum inside me, and on the few occasions I've had to use my magic… it's been delightful. Thank you, Bella, for introducing me to this.”

Bella nodded proudly. “I was glad to, Hermione. More than glad, even.”

After lunch they cleared the table and did the dishes. Hermione took a nap while Bella read a book. She woke a few hours later and sleepily asked for Bella to read to her. They spent a quiet afternoon together until it was time to get ready to meet Sirius at Andy's place.

* * *

The conversation with Sirius proved difficult. He was not unwilling to listen, but they were dealing with heavy topics, with much emotion in play.

Hermione's presence helped, at least with some topics, as Harry had praised her help to his compater (and, she assumed, Potter never realised how unwillingly it had often been given).

Being near the end of her time at the Auror Academy, Tonks broached the subject of his incarceration and how trivially easy it would have been for the _Prolocutor of the Wizengamot_ to ensure he got a trial. Her training notes talked about multiple examples from the aftermath of the troubles during the 1970s where _much less_ well-connected notables successfully agitated for trials and retrials.

The cousins bonded over their mutual disdain for their parents and their parents' politics, so at least that fragmentation of the family seemed to be healing.

That Hermione, born and raised in a non-magical family, had willingly and enthusiastically taken up campaigning for the rights of Elves, including the right to be unbound, and had become a disciple of Hecate, did much to undermine the views he had adopted when he fell out with his mother.

It took multiple assertions as well as an oath or two for him to accept that there never truly was a _Voldemort_. 

There was quite a bit of back and forth between Bella and Sirius as they worked out what had happened in that last year or two of the conflict. Tom Riddle had been a capable and stable spokesperson for the Death Eaters. He had been skilled at guiding people during missions while drawing opponents' attention to himself, which was part of his role.

Yet as the Death Eaters found themselves fighting the Order more and more often, he became unstable, focussing more on gaining power himself and seeking out questionable rituals. In the months before he did himself in while murdering the Potters, he became almost obsessed with the family – even though they weren't considered strategically important in overthrowing the Ministry (which was still the supposed goal of the Death Eaters).

Bella and Sirius were mulling over that obsession when Hermione, who had been listening in quietly, waved her hand to draw their attention.

“Bella,” she enthused, “the prophecy!”

Bella, nonplussed, stared at her. “Pet, how do you think the prophecy applies? I thought you figured it _didn't_ apply to Riddle?”

Hermione shook her head vehemently. “It doesn't, but _Dumbledore_ thinks it does. We both know the old coot abuses his legilimency skills, so how likely is it, do you think, that he kept checking Riddle's thoughts every time they faced off…”

“…and in doing so pushed Riddle into obsessing over the Potters,” Bella completed.

Then she swore. “The meddling fool believes that some spells and rituals taint one's soul, so he declares those dark… and ever since Grindelwald he’s been obsessed about that distinction he came up with. How likely is it that he kept trying to read Riddle's mind for those spells and rituals, priming the man's thinking to lean in that direction.

“It would explain how he started with our usual wounding but easily healed spells, and over time came to favour things like the killing curse.”

Hermione waved her hand again. “Dumbledore was powerful, I understand. He must have been capable of defeating Riddle… what if he didn't because of his ridiculous 'give everyone another chance' attitude and, once the prophecy was made, his belief it was no longer up to him.”

“So he's been guiding Harry in the hope that either Harry takes out Riddle, or vice versa, after which he might swoop in and take down Riddle, if need be. Or whomever wins, if you're a cynic. That would explain why he's not been training Potter.”

Andy had to stun and body bind Sirius to stop him from storming out of the house to confront Dumbledore. A calming draught and a glass of fire whiskey later saw them plotting an approach more likely to succeed, and where multiple aggrieved parties could contribute.

It took most of the party a few more glasses of fire whiskey to recover from the evening's revelations (Hermione abstained as alcohol did not play well with her potions). Andy offered beds to her guests, so they could avoid apparating under the influence.

“I've got enough potion making to do without having to provide an extra batch because my family decided to splinch themselves, thank you very much.”

Hermione was offered the good guest bed and asked Bella if she wanted to share as Sirius ended up on the camp bed in Ted’s office, and Narcissa on the sofa.


	8. Summer's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella asks a question; Hermione is confused. Hermione asks a question; Bella is enthused. Summer ends with one last visit.

Ted had to meet a client and Andy was tending to her potions, so Tonks made them all breakfast the next morning.

After breakfast, as they were heading out, Sirius gave her a hug, whispering in her ear he was glad she had been there for him and so often for his nepos, “even if he has not been a good friend to you.”

Hermione pulled back, surprised.

“He hasn't said as much, but it became obvious from his stories that you have helped him more than he ever did you. I hope that now that I can _be_ his compater that I can help him be a better person.

“I had a lot of time in Azkaban to think about how I had lived my life. I know I wasn't a kind person as a teenager, and I know I wasn't always a good friend.” He shrugged. “I hope I can help stave off a few regrets, at least.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Ideally also without a stint in Azkaban.” He winked and apparated home.

Narcissa wished them all a good day, invited Bella and Hermione for lunch “sometime this coming week”, and apparated away.

Once they had said goodbye to Tonks, Bella checked that she was ready and then apparated her home.

“Pet, are you up for a walk sometime today? I'd like to go to the heath once more.”

“How about you come in, we both have tea and freshen up, and then we go for a walk?”

* * *

The heath was quiet. The copse at the observation point offered some shade, though the morning sun was gentle. In the distance someone was walking their dog, the animal bounding away to the extent of their leash, returning to their human, then bounding ahead again.

Hermione sat down on the bench, Bella beside her. A moment later Bella shifted herself off the bench, kneeling in front of Hermione.

“Hermione, I offer you this house ring,” Bella said as she slid the signet ring she wore off her pinkie finger, “as a token of my intent. Will you allow me to court you?”

Hermione's surprise must have been evident; she saw Bella's expression waver. Trying to stave off the uncertainty, she babbled, “No, no, no. I mean, yes, Bella, I will and I would love to wear your ring.”

Bella's relief was clear ; her smile once again rivalled the sun.

“I was only so surprised,” Hermione said, as Bella slid the Black family signet ring on her left ring finger, “because I thought we had already established that we were in a courting relationship.”

At Bella's surprised look she continued, “Do you remember when you asked me if I was comfortable with you performing a ritual to Our Lady?”

Bella nodded.

“You have been nothing but kind to me, welcoming me to your praxis, showing me delightful magic, standing up for me against those who would talk ill of me or have done ill to me.

“So, when I answered your question saying that I would be grateful if you'd allow me to adopt your praxis _with all that entails_ I thought we were on the same page.”

Bella nodded. “I thought that we had formed an attachment and that you would be amenable to formalizing the bond, but I had not realized you had already declared yourself committed. Yet I cannot find it in myself to regret the error when it allowed me to ask the question and hear your answer. And see you wear my ring.”

Hermione smiled. “Well, it was worth it for your smile, certainly.” Her smile became a smirk, as she added, “you do know that this is going to cause us no end of trouble when someone asks when we started courting, right?”

Bella smiled. “I think we can handle any kind of trouble, together, little witch.”

Hermione grinned. “That was corny, love. Adorable but corny.” She leaned over and kissed Bella, who eagerly returned the kiss. Then she shifted back to her place on the bench and slid close to Hermione, legs touching, hands entwined, both enjoying the quiet heath and each other's company.

* * *

Hermione alternated her studying, focusing on her N.E.W.T.s one day and studying for her A-levels the next.

Bella would stop by often, around the time Hermione tended to take a break from her books. They would catch up over tea and biscuits or sometimes take a walk to the heath.

They arranged to have lunch with Narcissa late that week; Hermione scheduled only a little review for that morning, conserving energy for the visit.

The walk from the gate to the front door was much less stressful this time, giving Hermione more of an opportunity to enjoy the spectacular tableaux.

Narcissa opened the door, hugged Bella and then hugged Hermione, whispering “welcome, sister.” At Hermione's surprise, she pointed at the signet ring on her hand, and said, smiling, “did you think I wouldn't notice?”

Hermione shrugged and matched her smile.

“Go on through to the sitting room; we'll have lunch there. I know Bella prefers it over the 'boring' dining room.” Bella stuck out her tongue at her sister, who smirked in response.

In the sitting room they found Andromeda, who also welcomed the two warmly, pointing out that she, too, noticed a ring had migrated from Bella's hand to Hermione's.

Hermione muttered something to Bella about her family being _too_ observant, which Bella only responded to by smirking.

“Congratulations, Hermione, on your absolutely stunning O.W.L. results,” Narcissa said, with Andromeda in the background nodding in agreement. “We are all very proud of your achievement.”

Hermione blushed, grateful for the sentiment, though somewhat uncomfortable with the praise.

The four found seats around the table, Bella and Hermione sharing a love seat and Narcissa picking the seat next to Andy’s. There were sandwiches and drinks on the low table in the centre. Bella leaned over, grabbing a few sandwiches and offering them to Hermione. Andy and Narcissa served themselves.

“Last time we were here, before my son interrupted us with news about Sirius, we asked – well, Bella did – what you would do if you had no constraints, if employment was not a problem? What direction would you want to go? You didn't have a chance to answer then, so I thought I'd pose the question anew.”

Hermione thought about the questions for a long while; the sisters kept quiet, munching a sandwich and drinking their tea.

“I'm not really sure. Before we met I would have said I'd leave this society, except for the occasional shopping trip to get my potion supplies. I would have pursued some university degree and hoped to find something useful to do that way.

“I don't think I could do that, now. I don't want to be separated from this life, I don't want to spurn what Our Lady gave us, and I don't want to miss out on the sort of delights Bella showed me this summer.”

She took a sip of her tea, gathering her thoughts.

“I know I want to do something to make things better, somehow, but what and how I really don't know. Could I teach? Could I welcome muggleborn, introducing them properly to their new world? Could I research magic? Maybe research magics the ministry frowns upon, to keep them from being lost? Or instead maybe help keep our society hidden?” She shrugged and sighed despondently. “I really don't know.”

Bella hugged her close in comfort. “Love, you don't have to know right now. We just want you to think of all the options that are open to you, knowing that we _will_ support you.”

She grinned. “Remember, you're being courted by a scion of one of the richer families in this world. You're being courted by someone who would be nothing but delighted to support you as you find your calling.”

Hermione wanted to protest, but before she could voice any hesitation she felt Bella's finger on her lips.

“No, love, you are worth it. You make me happy. Your brilliance delights me. Your wonder in our magic strengthens my dedication to Our Lady. You are absolutely worth it.”

In a quieter voice she added, “and remember, pet, that while you study and learn and eventually find the path you want to take, we, all three of us, will already be working on making things better for all mages. We're happy to support you because it's you, but we're committed to a larger good, too.”

Andy nodded and chimed in, “Remember, I'll happily tutor you in potions. Cissy is skilled in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy and could help you acquire some healing skills, too. And your Bella no doubt will teach you ritual magic and defense.”

Narcissa hummed her agreement. “While you pursue your N.E.W.T.s you can explore and maybe find your path, or maybe that's something you'll only discover when you pursue a mastery. Or two, or three. You're brilliant enough for it.” Narcissa smiled at her; Hermione blushed again at the praise.

Andy laughed a short laugh. “Our dearest sister – your intended – may have inadvertently already pushed things in a better direction, I heard.”

Bella turned a quizzical face towards her sister.

“You took Hermione on a date to a bistro on Diagon Alley earlier this summer, and the boorish waiter accosted your dearest, no?”

Bella nodded, nonplussed.

“Do you remember what you said when the oaf tried to backtrack?”

Bella hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Not really, I just remember being _really_ irate as he seemed to have just ruined a splendid day.”

Andy smiled. “You said something along the lines of preferring to go somewhere 'where _all_ those blessed by magic are welcome'.

“Half the _ton_ was having lunch there that day. I don't know if it's your surname, your reputation, or your, ahem, group affiliation, but the phrase must have resonated. Three quarters of businesses in the Alley and in Hogsmeade now sport the slogan on their doors.”

Bella absorbed that quietly, obviously stunned.

“I don't doubt that many have not abandoned their prejudice, but at this time it is deemed _unrefined_ to deny any mage service, so at least some overt discrimination has been thwarted, courtesy of your ire.”

Bella spluttered. “I end up getting sentenced to ten years in Azkaban for finely crafted insurrectionist pamphlets that achieve pretty much nothing at all, and an impromptu phrase uttered in anger in defense of my love shifts things within weeks…”

She shook her head. After a moment she turned to Hermione, gave her a quick kiss, and added, “Well, love, it seems you bring out the best in me, even in undermining this society's broken parts.”

* * *

When Bella next visited Hermione, they walked to the observation point on the heath, just after breakfast.

Hermione guided her, to her surprise, to stand on the bench, with Hermione taking position in front of her, at ground level.

“Bella, my love, I know usually this is done by someone kneeling, but as that's not an option for me this seemed to be the next best thing. I still get to look up at you adoringly, at least.

“Will you do me the honour of wearing this ring, as a token of our courtship? I do not have a house ring to offer you, but this was my grandmother's engagement ring, and her mother's before that, so believe me when I tell you it carries no less significance for me.”

Bella beamed at her. “Of course I will, little witch, and I have no doubts about its significance. Even if it had no history at all, the fact that _you_ offer it makes it significant to me. That it carries some of your family's history with it just makes it all the more meaningful.”

Hermione slid the ring on Bella's ring finger. Bella jumped down from the bench, lifting her little witch and swirling her around, peppering her with kisses.

“How about, my pet, we hang out here for a while, enjoying our spot and each other, and then we go to the Alley for a bite to eat?”

Hermione nodded, sat down, and patted the spot next to her. Bella joined her with a grin.

* * *

As the two made their way down Diagon Alley, looking for a place to eat, they noticed that the _Daily Prophet_ building had been changed, its ground floor now a large glass front housing a brightly lit sculpture.

They wandered over to look at the statue and the accompanying description, an excerpt from the newspaper posted on the inside of the window.

> **Truth is at the Bottom of the Well**  
>  _Marble, brick, vine, and beetle carapace_  
>  Unknown Artist (Anonymous Donation)
> 
> A magnificent piece of art was recently donated to the _Daily Prophet_.
> 
> This work, a sculptural installation inspired by the work of Jean-Léon Gérôme, references the Greek philosopher Democritus’ aphorism about truth being at the bottom of a well, and shows a sculpture of Aletheia, Truth, seated at the bottom of the well, holding a mirror.
> 
> Exquisitely rendered, this masterpiece is augmented by excellent use of materials, using brick and vine for the well, marble for Truth, and iridescent beetle carapaces to make the mirror's surface.
> 
> The publisher of the _Daily Prophet_ expressed gratitude towards the donor and the artist, whomever they may be, for providing 'this magnificent work of art, representing what we here at the _Daily Prophet_ strive to achieve in each article we write, that is, the Truth.'
> 
> The publisher of the _Daily Prophet_ and its lead editor have commissioned a change to the newspaper's office building, to house the statue in splendour. The statue will be on display in the remodelled building, visible to all visitors to Diagon Alley, starting Thursday.

Hermione leaned over to Bella and whispered, “I guess the person donating this added a card with the title; I'm not sure they would have been able to recognise Truth.”

Bella smiled at her. “Shall we go have lunch, then?”

Hermione nodded, “Somewhere where they have excellent desserts; we're celebrating, after all.”

* * *

At least once a week Bella took Hermione to see another site. They visited Le Fay tower, the Museum of Magical Amusements, Avebury Circle, the Western Forest, and a few small, privately owned collections. Often Bella would stop by for tea or a short walk. On days when Hermione was too exhausted or in too much pain, they would sit together and talk, or Bella would read to her, or they'd just spend quiet time together.

When it was possible, they lunched with Narcissa and Andromeda, weaving ever closer links between them all.

Every weekend a larger group – Sirius, Tonks, Bella and Hermione, Narcissa, Andromeda, and Alecto, a friend of Bella's – would gather for dinner and to plan a get-together for later that summer.

* * *

“Safest place in all of Britain, with only a handful of unguarded, unwarded entrances,” scoffed Tonks, as they made their way through the tunnel.

“Hey, it's not completely unguarded. This one has a tree that's likely to murder a student, which a dedicated invader would likely figure out how to control,” replied Sirius.

“So,” Alecto asked, “is cynicism a Black family inherited trait or is it one you learn?”

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other?” mused Hermione, which earned her a smirk from Bella.

The group's chat ceased when they reached the end of the underground part of their trip. They disillusioned themselves before exiting the tunnel; Padfoot had snuck out first to quiet the whomping willow. They made their way to the castle doors and then through eerily empty hallways.

Once they reached the top floor of the astronomy tower, just underneath the observation deck, they ended the spells hiding them from sight.

Without speaking a word they all reached for the spelled crystals they carried with them, feeding it their magic. One by one their true bodies, faces, and magics were replaced by those last worn by Tom Riddle.

“I wonder how long it will take for the old man to arrive here; he no doubt has his wards set to notify him when they notice this magical signature,” Bella-as-Tom said, casting a few spells idly, providing some mood lighting for their get-together.

“He made sure to wait until my nepos was near death in his first year here, defending himself from that cursed professor. So maybe he only comes after a student is endangered in which case we should've come after the start of term,” Sirius-as-Tom suggested.

“I'll add it to the list of his irresponsible and reprehensible choices. Number two hundred and eighty three, and counting,” was Hermione-as-Tom's deadpan response.

Tonks had taken the spot nearest the stairs, so had sight of the entrance to the tower on the lower level. She waved, signalling their… _guest_ was on his way.

He rushed in, wand drawn, the usual sedate and stately walk forgotten in his haste. His garish robes, a clashing purple and orange, seemed to have been put on in a hurry and hung limply around him.

Bella tried to suppress her smirk. Before their guest had a chance to properly look around she spoke. “Did I keep you from your nightcap and early bedtime, Albus? Getting a bit old for this all?”

Dumbledore straightened his back and tried to calm his breathing, but his greeting was still somewhat gasped. “Good evening, Tom. What brings you to my school tonight?”

Hermione spoke next. “I have a few… _qualms_ over our interactions that I wished to bring to your attention.”

She could see Dumbledore's eyes widen as he realised there was a second Tom Riddle. He looked around in a near-panic and noticed the others. His head snapped from one to the next, lips moving soundlessly.

After a little while they heard him mumbling about dark magic and vile rituals.

“As usual,” Sirius offered, “your lack of knowledge and understanding does not seem to impede your judgemental side. But that is not the only reason I am here.”

Tonks spoke next. “You, Albus Dumbledore, allowed me to bullied mercilessly for years, and let the perpetrators go unpunished.”

Before he had a chance to respond, Andromeda spoke up. “You, _Headmaster_ Dumbledore, allowed an inept teacher and bully to ruin a generation of aurors, healers, and potioneers, claiming he held your full confidence.”

Narcissa took her turn. “You endangered every pupil in this school, not only by your scheming but also by leaving us in the care of irresponsible teachers.”

Without pause, Alecto spoke next. “Every time we met you invaded my mind, seeking for evil, and in doing so _you_ placed and fed a dark seed. You, Dark Lord Dumbledore, broke my mind.”

Dumbledore was taken aback by the accusations; he whirled around, trying to find who would speak next.

“ _Your_ scheming, _headmaster_ Dumbledore, caused me to be injured for life, yet did nothing to accommodate me afterwards,” Hermione bit.

Bella gave her a quick grin, speaking up almost before she'd completed her sentence. “Your lacklustre interest in what happens at this school, _headmaster_ , has ruined generations of witches and wizards, all deprived of knowing the beauty of our history, the magnificence of magic.”

“When you were Prolocutor,” Sirius added, in a loud voice, “you were partisan and you were prejudiced, denying witches and wizards their rights because _you_ felt they were 'dark', sending innocents to Azkaban for years.”

“You were meant to welcome newcomers to our world,” Alecto chimed in, “yet there, too, you played games, guiding them only toward admiration for your skill and power.”

Narcissa spoke up. “You, _headmaster_ , allowed your staff to host and breed _and release_ extremely dangerous creatures, never taking steps to keep us and all other inhabitants of the Northern Forest safe.”

Dumbledore was clearly overwhelmed by the incessant accusations, whirling faster, trying to address the Tom Riddle who most recently spoke, trying even now to justify his choices.

Bella took another turn. “When your charges told you their homes were unsafe, because of war, because of their guardians, you dismissed their complaints and sent them back to suffer.”

Hermione started to speak, but before she could, Dumbledore's attempts at facing his most recent accuser seemed to catch up with him.

Dizzy and emotionally overburdened, he stepped too close to the edge of the ramp and lost his footing. He slipped and fell through the window, plummeting down on the grass below the astronomy tower.

“I was going to mention that he refused to make changes to accommodate my disability,” Hermione said drily, “but according to him, _normal people_ had no need of handrails and safety bars.”

The seven visitors drained the energy from their glamour crystals, ending the spells. They disillusioned themselves and made their way back out of the castle.

Back at the Shrieking Shack, they all saw each other off with effusive hugs and promises to get together again soon. Finally, when it was just the two of them, Bella turned to Hermione and asked, “You coming to my place, pet?”

Hermione smiled and nodded.


End file.
